FINALLY THE RAIN
Finally the rain.
Late again, because it’s always late now; after almost two years and it came at last, sweeping down from the mist-top hills, and it fell as a long forgotten blessing on the town.
And we danced in the streets, all of us, if dancing is spinning from puddle to puddle, and kicking up our heels, and our heads tilted back to drink in the sky and our arms held wide enought to embrace the world. And granma Punita fell to her knees and gave thanks and the water pooled about her skirts and she could not get up again without help.
And Safia was laughing and that was as good as the rain.
And pignose frogs that had slept in the sweated dark under rocks, awoke and they gave up a throaty song of rejoicing. And dead fish came back to silver-kick life. And the whole place sucked and sucked on the rain, and flowers splashed into extravagant bloom, yellow and purple and red; and underneath the whisper and shout of rain was the sound of the forest growing.
And there were tears, only they were tears of joy and could not be seen anyway, not in all that rain, all that wonderful rain, and it looked like tears on all the faces.
And Nandi, the dog, chased his own tail and barked and lay on his back and his tongue was never so pink before and he drank so much he was later quietly sick.
Mama set out all the bowls and jugs in the garden, and empty bottles and pots, and granma Punita’s best china teacups and the china saucers, too, and they were not any of them long in filling. And Papa looked at the mango plants and he swears they bore the buds and flowers that would one day be fruit, and he swears this happened before his very eyes, and none of us doubted but what he said was true.
And Safia was laughing, did I say that already? Safia, who had no words for anything, and she sat in the dark of indoors, and she scowled at the sun and made black faces to scare house crows. The same Safia that I sang to sleep on prickle-heat nights and she never gave me thanks or caresses or kisses, and she was laughing and that was the best thing of all; and I laughed too, and I took a kiss that was not given and still Safia laughed.
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→Thanks again to Lindsay for letting me bring this work to you. Want more? Go to Lindsay’s page: “Just a Writer’s Page.”-PMc←
Patricia Ann McNair 