My son’s new music video “King Rust” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PueKaQrjzc) reminded me of one of my old poems.
Now that I’m moving back to Virginia, remembering rain makes me nostalgic in advance for Arizona, where rust is art.
It was too much of a good thing,
like sugar in tea, pouring down
day after day, feeding the weeds.
I remember headaches
from impending storms
and flooded roads afterward,
sticky mud, and yellow tides
of pollen washed from cars,
someone in Walmart saying
“wet enough for ya?”
for the umpteenth time
when we dragged ourselves out
in the drizzle of gray days.
The good thing was, rain dampened
the mosquitos’ ardor and lured
peeper frogs, singing in puddles
and plastering their bellies
to windows like peering eyes.
I remember Virginia rain
as fondly as mildew, mossy walls
and rusty everything, now basking
in the desert heat, finally home.
I’m enjoying a rare cloudy day in Tempe, looking in vain through my photo files for pictures to illustrate my rain poems.