Photography by Reka Jellema. Copyright April 2015.
The First Rain
Was it the first rain,
hard hitting rain
battering our green
slicking the sycamores
puddling our drives
drowning the earthworms
melting the last
of the dingy snow
Was it the sound
of violets bursting from the dirt,
tiny wrinkled faces
like blue babies
newly born
that woke
the birds, aroused
their coughs and barks
at once
and for the evening
urgently
the thrush, the gull,
goldfinch and bluebird,
jays and grackles
crow
assaulted our ears
cacophony or symphonic
we could not
distinguish dissonance
from harmony
could not
help but hear
a garbage truck crushing
glass bottles
into dust
at the chorus
Was it the first rain,
hard hitting rain
battering our green
slicking the sycamores
puddling our drives
drowning the earthworms
melting the last
of the dingy snow
Was it the sound
of violets bursting from the dirt,
tiny wrinkled faces
like blue babies
newly born
that woke
the birds, aroused
their coughs and barks
at once
and for the evening
urgently
the thrush, the gull,
goldfinch and bluebird,
jays and grackles
crow
assaulted our ears
cacophony or symphonic
we could not
distinguish dissonance
from harmony
could not
help but hear
a garbage truck crushing
glass bottles
into dust
at the chorus
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