Poetry Workshop

The lead poet says, write about autumn rain now.

I can’t think about autumn rain 
in this bone-dry room,

without air or breeze, 
roasting with poet bodies.

Ok. Wait.

I’m thinking of autumn rain. 

It’s the swelling scents and tastes 
of a rainy autumn day at
Lake Chabot that I so love. 

It's inhaling the wetness,
the taste on the tongue 

of soaked eucalyptus and pine, 

of drenched concrete

and soggy scat

and drowned leaves. 

And funny how noisy splashing geese 

make rain feel wetter, kinder 

and in this showery mist life itself

feels more real, more personal.