Skip to content

Rain Chain

March 3, 2014

By Madelon Bolling

I don’t know how to write frost melting
to drip gold, wink red, clear — pinging
the bronze cups chained under eaves,
enticing fall of cold-trapped water
from air to earth

because there never was frost
or bronze cups or eaves, let alone
air or earth but in these words
that freeze us to them until —

a bumblebee lands
right here on the page,
fuzzy amber on black legs, ticking,
ticking over these weed-scratches
that will yield no pollen

and we melt open in the hawk’s call,
the horse-snorting rooster-crow
singing tablesaw and echoing gunshot
several yards closer than far away.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. March 3, 2014 10:18 pm

    Brilliant, Madelon!

  2. Barbie Brooking permalink
    March 17, 2014 3:31 pm

    Wonderful poem! Barbie Brooking

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

%d bloggers like this: