Let it rain, Let it rain,
Open the Floodgates of Heaven—Psalm 97
Black birds balance blades of grass,
fan feathers, and, at the entrance
of the park, a blue water fountain full
of cat, tail extending.
Erratic lizards sprint and spark
ahead of a wogging woman.
The burrowing owls can’t be seen
and near holes in the sand
a bottle empty—
Monsoon clouds kick like flaxen horses
in the wind at noon, while thoughts of rain
spill at the corners of the wrist watch
Ticking her umbrella
in a single blink
to the horses wild and free
she utters: “Wash us clean.”
by Wendy Gist
Editor’s Note: The protagonist in this poem doesn’t speak until the end, but her three simple words transform the poem from simple imagistic verse into a psalm.
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