Pennsylvania Rains
Prayers in the dusty fields of corn
where the farmers weep and wonder
if the world is drying up or shifting,
if there ever will be the rains again,
what it feels like against their searing skin,
if the crops will ever be again
lunging through the loam
and rising up toward the sun in their
vibrant green suits holding their palms
upward to receive the rains that soak
the grounds from whence they arose.
“Oh beautiful, sweet, savory, luscious,
succulent, cooling, heroic rains,
why hast thou forsaken us?”
Clouds of mercy and clouds of compliance,
reparations of the Rain Gods made,
atoning for the sins of the complacent air
where the hot and cold fronts stay away,
snuggled inside their own separate island,
hanging inside the tired old firmament
at peace with each other like a
lioness with her cubs,
at last a restlessness stirring in the pacific air,
a desire to dominate over the other front,
a clashing together of the armies,
an angry tempest forming,
a rumbling of the clouds,
a falling of the rains onto
the dried up fields of corn,
at last the fields of Pennsylvania
flourished again and rescued
the hungry people as the Rain Gods
made sure to execute their duties
and shed their tears over the land.
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