Rain
for Judith
Seems there’s no end to these February rains.
No sun, white skies like bed sheets. My friend is dying.
On sheets white as the sky my friend lies dying. No sun
for days, just these steady rains filling the trees.
These steady rains have filled the trees for days
as she drifts in and out of pain. Thin as leaves, her hands.
Hands thin as leaves, she drifts from us, from pain.
I watch out her window as rain drops soft, then harder.
Hard to watch her end. Soft rain drops on the window.
No joking now. She knows death’s not a wit.
She’s not joking now. Knows she can’t outwit death.
I breathe the rain-wet grass. Rain fills my hands.
Rain fills my waiting hands. I breathe wet grass.
Eyes closed, she smiles. Perhaps she’s dreaming of Paris.
Beth Paulson lives in Ouray County, Colorado, where she has led the Poetica Workshop for over a dozen years, co-directs Poetry at the Tavern, and serves as poet laureate. Her poems have been widely published nationally in over 200 journals and have four times been nominated for Pushcart Prizes. Luminous (Kelsay Books, 2021) is her sixth published collection. “Rain” first appeared in Slant Poetry.