Saturday 2 July 2022

Rain

by Laura Ann Reed


In late November my father
takes me to the circus
in San Francisco; he drives
across the bridge in steady rain
and parks around the corner
from the circus grounds;
his black umbrella floats above my head
like some great dark bird
that only wants to shelter me.
In the crowded tent
the elephants are dancing
to a trainer’s whip;
the world spins
and blurs as I push past knees
and clapping hands;
outside, blasts of autumn wind
lash the black umbrella
until its ribs poke through
the battered frame;
my hair and clothes are soaked
under my father’s overcoat.


* * * * *

Laura Ann Reed received a dual BA in French/Comparative Literature from the University of California, Berkeley, and subsequently completed Master’s Degree Programs in the Performing Arts and Psychology. She was a dancer in the San Francisco Bay Area prior to assuming the role of Leadership Development Trainer at the San Francisco headquarters of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. She and her husband now reside in western Washington. Her work has been anthologized in How To Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope, and has appeared or is forthcoming in MacQueen’s Quinterly, The Ekphrastic Review, and Willawaw, among other journals.  


1 comment:

  1. Makes me miss the era of more rain, as well as my father. Well done. Thank you.

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