The rain so blue, so insistent that,
along with the wind, it took part of the day
washing it through the drains and out to sea.
Starting with wet bullets fired at hot tar
the volley soon became
its own war. Shredding the leaves,
the trees bent and broken.
Rain, so strong it defeated the pipes,
gorged drains and pooled into lagoons in basements.
The rain did not stop when rain should
but kept throwing itself upon the earth.
Creating lacunas in the day
so full they could not stay attached.
Eventually the rain became all there was
soaking through the glass of the windows,
transforming the inside air, running down the walls
and across the shelves, filling
all the books, so words floated off
away from their sentences.
Rain could never be trusted as tame
after the drains built to channel storms
sunk in the day that could not hold
such blue rain.
Meredith Pitt is a Blue Mountains based poet. She has been published in Meanjin and Verity La and more recently in Not Very Quiet and Cicerone. Meredith was awarded the Verandah Literary Award 2018.