Slowly, the Rain Comes

September. How long this drought has been.
Now the sky is greyer every morning,
overcast lingers closer to noon.
On the dead grass, dew is falling
but still we have not seen rain.

I’ve never seen this city look less green,
half the trees scorched and already turning.
No red in the maples, they just went brown,
the heat wave killed my last rhododendron.
Never thought I’d be here praying for rain.

Feel it out there beyond the Coast Range,
feel it gathering on the Pacific Ocean?
Feel the clouds rise on the jet stream
hover beyond the invisible horizon:
giant hulls freighted with a cargo of rain.

We’ve come to this; had to unlearn
the favorite curse of every Oregonian
struggling through wet winter’s pain.
God, forgive me for ever complaining
bless us, bless us, kiss us with rain.

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