It rained for days and we were all
under a carpet cloud of grey that stretched
through mornings into nights
filled with kamikaze drops
that pelted themselves from their sky palette
turning the land into a living wet watercolour.
Fields became lakes, rivers spilled
over, sand-bag dams were built
to try to keep the waters out
but a dog drowned in its owner’s home.
Houses had to be abandoned.
Someone spoke about building a boat.
A tractor convoy was a funeral cortège
with a trailer hearse carrying mourners
seated on square hay bales
around the coffin
and still the rain kept falling
Until it stopped and there was silence
and almost the whole land was a silvery mirror
and light dripped from trees.
COLETTE COLFER lectures part-time in world religions at Waterford Institute of Technology. She is a PPI-Award winning radio producer and has worked in print and broadcast journalism. She’s had poems published in Skylight 47, Three Drops From a Cauldron, Poetry Ireland Review, Algebra of Owls and The Poets’ Republic.