We prayed for rain.
We danced for rain.
We sacrificed cheeseburgers for rain.
We drank beer for rain.
We sang rain songs.
We dressed up like little rain clouds.
Rain got the message.
Rain clouds gathered cousins from all around the world.
Rain arrived at two-seventeen on Wednesday.
Rain fell upon us in earnest.
We never saw rain like that before.
No roof kept the rain out.
No arroyo or river kept the rain in their banks.
Rain flooded the Catholic churches.
It flooded the Protestant churches too.
And the synagogues and mosques.
It was a good baptist rain
that insisted upon full immersion.
The Rio Grande flood plain
lived up to its name.
The rain washed buildings off the foothills
and down to the river.
The flood moved Albuquerque south
past Los Lunas and Belen.
The rain rained itself out by nine twenty-two.
The moon shone down on millions
of Our Fathers, Hail Marys and Glory Be’s.
It glinted off droplets hung on bent and dinged serifs.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney