• John Grey

"After a Dry Spell"


The rain, at first,

sounds like there’s someone

tapping at the window,

but the only one out there wanting in

is my half of a reflection in the glass.

But now, there’s more of them,

not just thumping against panes

but pounding the roof as well

and even a few whacking away

at the walls, the doors.

Then the rain slows

and these prospective interlopers

are more timid in their knocks,

less sure that inside is where

they want to be after all.

Then it stops altogether.

The shower has passed.

Puddles abound.

Grass glistens.

The rain is home at last.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Evening Street Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Harpur Palate, Poetry East and Visions International.


16 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Two poems by Tamiko Dooley

Sayaka They made her change her name – The same kanji she’d used since she first picked up a pencil To mark on paper. Sayaka. The fortune teller said it was bad luck For the characters of his surname

"Catching the Moon" by Christina Daub

First you must roll it down your street when it is least likely to be noticed, preferably noon. If it yellows while you roll, you must tell it all your names and listen to it croon. Do not face it dir

Three poems by Cathlin Noonan

Self-Portrait From a Balm I was born from a long, hot labor a boiling, a hard shake, whipped to form after the heat and pain my caul, not shaped in splintering from my mother, but from a cooling, scra