Scott Reid
Black Bottom Storm
After the black bottom of the storm
scuds across the lake, and the beech tree
throws its dead or dying branches down,
the lake begins to sing. In the afterstorm,
lighter clouds passing through behind the front
fling a few shapes on the water, smaller drops
like tiny bells ringing on the surface.
This is the sound of water falling into water:
the sizzle of bacon frying, or the steady breath
of wet sheets flying on the line, like
the old priest with his laundry yesterday
running from the storm, his robes dark with rain,
ducking into the church to meet someone
for confession. The whisper of their voices
flowing through the cloth on the wall
pours through the window
with the clear truth of the falling rain.
Healdsburg, 1997
© Scott Reid, 1997
Home
