I Must Be Rain
I
must be rain
or at least the wiggly-thin rivulet
that runs down your hair,
that branches out from the part,
splits into bluegreen-vein temples,
doubles, triples, again and again
until your vision is blinded
in the crystalline shine of mine.
You might flick fingertipfuls
from your eyes, but you won't
disturb the puddles
that accumulate overnight.
You wait, shallow breathed,
for sun. If it rises. I must be rain,
or frost or snow, and each day you wait
for me to come down upon your head.
-- Maryann Hazen Stearns
Maryann Hazen Stearns, author of poetry collection "Under the Limbo Stick," has poetry appearing in 40+ print publications throughout the US as well as Canada, Switzerland, India, Britain, and 360+ electronic publications. She is currently Assistant Editor of "MindFire Renewed," and enjoys membership in the Woodstock Poetry Society, and Poets & Writers. She is the owner of a Chihuahua named Sugar Bear, has an awesome tin collection, enjoys knitting, crocheting, and really, really hates cooking, to the great dismay of her 100 year old grandmother, who thinks it's a sin, but continues to love her anyway.