Poem of the week: Fuerty Rain

Then he prayed again, and heaven gave rain,
and the earth bore its fruit - James 5:18

My father would come dripping
into the kitchen, scattering drops

as he hung his coat above the stove.
Someone’s been praying for rain,

he’d say –
rain that puddled in the haggard,

trickled from beech leaves
onto the heifers, soaked schoolbags

heavy as flannel sheets on the line,
rusted the rake left out last summer,

splashed from the gutter
over the back door, found a gap

in the slates and slithered into the attic,
gathered as droplets in clouds

that waited like the balled-up hankies
in my mother’s apron pocket.

Today’s poem is from Jane Clarke’s new collection Coracle (Bloodaxe)