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observations. stories. in revolt of the niche. poetry. reflections.

Missouri rain

6/9/2014

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The original version of this poem, titled rain, was written sometime before 2005 (my post-mom brain doesn't remember dates). Two days ago, while hauling four truck loads of rock through two thunderstorms and a too-close tornado (see cleansing truths), my fascination with storms was reinforced, again. This morning I stumbled across rain, and it seemed appropriate to revisit the poem. It has a few revisions, but not many, and a new title. Enjoy Missouri rain, and a slightly altered image excerpt. 

Once a part of White Girl Can't Fancy Dance, I'm still not sure with which collection it best fits. Any ideas?
Picture
photo from morgueFile by click
Missouri rain

Missouri rain

when the sky decides

to be green

to pretend to be grass

to swirl clouds, like

the merry-go-round in Queen Anne park

where the big kids push

so fast

we can’t get off, and need to

and cry when we finally fall--

a five minute storm

until the sky clears

and we can see

empty swings

on the other side.

© Erin Croley
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