When it rains
In the early hours, rain pounds the earth hard as headlines.
Then the dripping quiet, lush like softly-spoken lies, wet
on barely-open lips. Now is the wide-awake time, rife
with thinking, thinking, thinking
And I am adrift on a Greenland ice floe, so blue I could
melt into this beautiful, sad footage, become a cold puddle
on living room carpets. Everyone changes channels, rife
with thinking, thinking, thinking
And I am a small island losing weight, sweating into oceans,
vanishing like a malnourished child, all saggy skin and tears.
My trees drown, skeletal, bleached remnants rife
with thinking, thinking, thinking
In the early hours, rain takes what’s left of summer’s petals,
casts confetti pinks to vanish in the mud. My eyes still
closed, I cannot sleep for the deafening, too-heavy rain rife
with thinking, thinking, thinking
Pat Edwards is a writer, reviewer and workshop leader from mid Wales. Her work has appeared in Magma, Atrium, and IS&T. Pat hosts Verbatim open mic nights and curates Welshpool Poetry Festival. She has three pamphlets: Only Blood (Yaffle 2019); Kissing in the Dark (Indigo); Hail Marys (Infinity Books UK).
Modron Magazine 