SMELL THE RAIN

SMELL THE RAIN

 

The cold miserable rain spits at me

It turns to hail and hits me; I wish
My old bones were stronger.
I remember racing down this hill on sunnier days,
The sky was always –

Bluer, smiling on me, a younger self.

Now the rain won’t let up, to leave
Me in peace, to make my way home to my fields.

If I don’t get to my beloved farm soon:

I fear I will die of the cold dampness.
Through rain – there –
My rugged stone walls,

The ones my husband built, where hens jumped
And wild flowers grew, where smile lines
Etched my face.

Now cold wind tears like sharp stones.

When I stumble, I claw earth.
Tears mingle with rain. This is not the first time
I’ve tended to wander;

Wishing to be safe, warm in my lonely marital bed.

I rise, a moor-hen screeches, a hare bounds lightly.