When it gently rains, 

We do not hear the winging of butterflies,

Nor the wafting, iridescent wings of fairies nor

The slow crawl of the wooly caterpillar 

Through the sheeny fallen leaves.

When it pours buckets, 

We do not hear the sloshing of galoshes,

Nor the thumping of a rabbit’s foot nor

The heavy breathing of lovers 

Between sheeny satin sheets

I miss those sounds.

The rains wash away their memories

And leave only puddles for me splash in

Barefoot

2 thoughts on “WHEN IT RAINS by Edward Pontacoloni

  1. When I was very little, two or three, there was no gravel at the corners where our farm driveway met the gravel road. Fine dust collected there. When it rained, that dust became the most wonderful squishy mud that magically oozed up between my little toes. I was fascinated to watch that. This piece reminded me of that, I didn’t remember it sooner or I would have put it in my own piece!
    Good job!!

    Like

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