Morning Drive to Ijamsville

Against overturned cups of rain,
the sharp distinction of Holsteins
crunching their morning meal,
oblivious to Canadian geese
flying overhead. How glorious
to be a beast in unfurled weather,
to prod the men who hammer
the broken wooden fence
to finish their work faster.
While I navigate the weather,
nature plods on with its parade,
a gust of sunlight guzzling
through the flinching clouds.
The cows' colors hurt my eyes—
their white and black claims lie.
The rain, alone, tells the truth,
the bearing down neutral cry
of its gray, clear song
singing just how hard it is to see
through the falling sky, the threats
and hopes no color at all but
insistent see-through clarity, down,
down, so dark despite the early hour,
the rain reaches for what it cannot see
or stop, cupping its plentiful hands
to catch its own cold overspill.

Copyright © 2004 Elizabeth Rees All rights reserved
from Cimarron Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission