Name: Anne Marie Dimech
Age:   35
Title:  The Downpour

It had tried to come all day.

Slowly amassed clouds,

Burned and dispersed by spiteful brothers,

Again, and again.


Persistence paid,

And as the hours slid off the day,

The sun faded, the winds deflated

In the stillness of the siesta.


The perfect chance

For clouds to congregate, conflate

Until there was no blue in sight,

Only drapes of heavy anthracite

Hanging low, resting on roofs.


Finally, the first drops squeezed through the thick mesh,

Painting the tarmac,

Making way.

It is afternoon,

I bustle in a darkened room.

A delicate tinkling begins,

Rising to a calming even noise

That holds the longest note.


My activities half-dropped,

I wait for it to stop,

Pleased that it does not.


I climb a floor for better views,

Observe as liquid energy pounds down,

Bouncing off the ground.


Later, I notice the drops pounding slower, bouncing lower.

The drapes lighten and lift off my roof.

I open the door to venture out in between gatherings of drops.

The greeting takes me unawares:

Crisp new air, pure as babies, sharp as teens,

Tingles on my skin,

Lifts the heaviness within.

My lungs fill.

My mind clears.

My heart thanks the skies for this mighty rain.