Name: Anne Marie Dimech
Title: The Downpour
It had tried to come all day.
Slowly amassed clouds,
Burned and dispersed by spiteful brothers,
Again, and again.
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,
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.