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Kerry Rain 
by Elizabeth Grant

I drove my little son to school this morning.
Packed satchel, unpacked amidst
                                          our ritual kisses;
tussled hair; the eager voices in happy yawning.
Then I light-footed ran, as rain fell
                                           in muffled hisses,
to my urban chariot.

It had been so hot; parched skies
            aching for fluffed wet cotton
to soothe the sun lovers below.
The rain fell before my eyes
            and into my slow, beating,
                   dreaming heart.
I stood in the memories.

I stood in memories of wet grass.
Trees sweet scented with life's sap.
Stung by the barbs of familiarity misplaced
I knew, through a saltwater sea,
                        that this is not home;
the rain not quite soft enough.
No mountain curves or lakes traced
                        upon this vision's gap.

So foolish to be held enthralled,
            skewered, by another place.
As this rain falls I am comforted
            by the cloak of banality;
needs drowned in the day's race.
A life promised but obscured in reality.
Drenched, I turn the key
                              and follow the day.



We shall be delighted if you visit our sister site at Wickford and District Talking Newspaper for the the Blind and see what those dedicated charity workers are doing.


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