What Rough Beast | Poem for October 5, 2017

Deborah Bacharach
In Seattle it Stopped Raining

not just the ferocious
downpours
no one expected anyway,
had no use for in the leaf clogged drains,
but the gentle
daily
mist, the mantles
we all wear,
stripped.

The sky radiated.
Not a drop
fell.

We were bored,
then we were afraid, snipped
at each other with no
puddles to stomp in.
Our skin cracked.
We tried to say hello, lost our will.
Shores receded.
Firs withered. Alone at picnic tables
we drink a beer or two, in these
the end times.

 

Deborah Bacharach is the author of After I Stop Lying (Cherry Grove Collections, 2015). Her work has appeared in Poet Lore, Arts & Letters, Blue Mesa Review, and The Texas Review, among other journals. Her work has also appeared in Jump Start: A Northwest Renaissance Anthology (Steel Toe Books, 2009), A Fierce Brightness: Twenty-Five Years of Women’s Poetry (Calyx Books, 2002), and Sex and the Single Girl (Seal Press, 200). She is a writing tutor in the Seattle. Find out more about her at DeborahBacharach.com.

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