We didn’t think to pray
for rain that spring and summer because
we were not the farmers or
the flower shop owners or
the camp counselors who led
young lives down the rivers in June
So we didn’t watch the sky
anxiously wondering when the clouds would
form from drops
of water in the air
didn’t notice the dust our shoes
stirred up when we walked across
the ground’s dry cracked skin
didn’t grasp all the green
that was missing in the brown surrounding
stale streets
We didn’t know we needed rain until
it came,
until that first drip dropped onto our busy
hands and made us
pause to ponder water
until the drops dripped down our lips, watering
parched throats
and dehydrated songs
We never knew we
loved the sound of rain against
the window, the soft drumming
drowning out
clocks ticking
hearts beating
Not until then did we wonder
how we ever went so long without
children playing in puddles, without
umbrellas drying outside doors
Just an hour after the first splash
from sky to sidewalk, we collected
rainwater in empty cups
to save for sunny days in case
the next time
the water waited
until it was expected.
