Rain-Words

Rain-Words

The Inuit are said to have
a dozen words for snow. 
Each describes a picture of
the sky, a mountain up above,
or quiet valley blanket down below. 

In our valley, we don’t see much snow –
or mountains – or the sky. 
Our winters – quiet, gray and dull,
but poignant, and so beautiful
that every passing cloud can’t help
but open up and cry. 

And for these tears we have a few
expressions on our list. 
It can shower, sprinkle, rain,
or pour - like cats and dogs
who beg our door
for shelter from the drizzle, spit, and mist.   

Intermittent, only partly clear – 
the meanings we ascribe.
But these rain-words, we all understand –
we denizens of sodden land;
as snow-words speak to members of that 
bundled northern tribe. 

Each year we say we’ll leave this place
of scant, infrequent sunshine.
We’ll scrape the moss from ‘tween our toes,
and go where only cactus grows,
and everything is warm … and dry … and fine.   

But with the spring, the sun returns
(or with the summer, maybe).
Our hearts rise up to greet it, like a daisy. 
In its heat we get forgetful and so lazy,
that we can’t imagine why 
we’d ever want to leave our valley.