Another plea for rain.
tell me
mother: what is the
silver
lining
to be found in the
blue
sky: this
sea you have spread
over
us with
no water falling through
the
cracks as
your sun sheds more heat
and
less light
on my tongue now a
desert
Notes
This poem wasn’t originally a quadrille, but it was close enough in length that I decided to tweak it slightly to incorporate the word what (line 2) in response to De’s recent prompt at dVerse.
Thanks for this, De, and for giving me the opportunity to spin my earlier poem into a quadrille. Interrogatives like “what” and “how” remain elusive as ever in dry days like this (here in the Northeast).
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Thanks for this, Grace—the tercets may not bring water, but there is a kind of calm comfort in arranging so many words into compact lines.
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You’re always welcome, Chris. And yes, a glass of water did the trick!
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Many thanks, Eric. It’s so hard to go through each day, filled as it is with sunshine and blue skies, thinking this really isn’t how it should be—as though “unseasonable” were less an exception and more a natural disease.
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Pleasure 🙂
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Indeed it is, Björn; I’ve been obsessed lately by the cruel paradox that so much blue can bring no water when we need it most.
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Nicely done.
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Coming from a country that has received more than its fair share of rain this year, the power of your poem still has me empathising with seeing a blue sky as a
“sea you have spread
over
us with
no water falling through
the
cracks”
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[…] Nov. 11: “Omniscience“ […]
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I like the urgency that I read in this.
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Between Two Rivers 
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