Sometimes rain comes flouncing in
–a drama queen, a prom queen,
maybe even a bride,
full of flounce and rustle.
She throws her arms out,
shakes her boobies.
Sometimes she lands with a thud
other times her back arches
as her partner leans over
nearly kissing her.
She dances and twirls all around us
until the middle of the night
when she flings her skirts, her feet pirouetting,
flinging precious rain,
like she’s throwing cubic zirconias on trees.
The earth drinks
We all drink.
The rain has come in time
for the corn to tassle
and the beans to flower.
We will hear it grow
if we stand still and listen.
The horse pushes open the barn door
to look out just as lightning
and thunder speak in time.
I look out to check the barn.
It was not struck.
The following evening,
the rain has changed clothes,
donning browns and grays and oranges.
She touches her hand to a dragon’s head
before she sends him to race
around a track on fire.
