Rain
I never asked to be a drop of rain
Working my way slowly down a window
Leaving a trail of myself along
The pane among a crowd of other raindrops
—fellow travelers, I suppose.
Nothing against them, no! But still
It was that point of contact, between
Glass and water—that force—that friction—
That energy, insuring that my life
Would not be over when I reached the sill.
For even then, as a child, at ten,
I planned to live forever. And so far,
Having hit bottom not one time but
Again—again—again, always that force
Lifts me skyward, turns me into water,
Flings me roughly back against the pane
(New fellow travelers this time?)
To twist and wind and creep and press, thereby
Insuring that your life will, like mine,
Reaching the bottom, rise forever new.
Kajsa Ohman is on the verge of turning 85 and thinks it’s high time she published something. She used to live in a log cabin in the Montana mountains, but now she lives in Seattle, an experience which has spawned these 3 poems. Thank you for being their first readers.
The Marbled Sigh 