before the rain returns i
want to remember skin
peeling on my lips,
hands rubbing rough
against my arms on
cooling nights. i
want to remember
leaves veined brown
like rivers naked with
stale silt; spinning on
rusted clotheslines rustling
like taffeta skirts. i
want to remember the
season where there was
an abundance of
lacking. where the
wounds had no energy to
to scar. remember before storm
grates become masked in amber,
scarlet, sienna, creating pools knee
deep that tidal with
each passing car, threatening
to pull me under. i want
to remember grass pinpricking
against my sweat drenched body
as i gaze at morning
stars, salt beads sliding to
earth, a feeble offering of dew.
i want to remember
before i forget and grow
weary of oil slick streets,
clouds outpouring rivers’
fluted songs, when
abundance shifts to
another lack.
anne richardson
anne richardson weaves her connection to the other beings in nature into her poetry. Publications include Tiny Seed Literary Journal, The Poeming Pigeon, and Mountain Bluebird Magazine. She has been a recipient of Willamette Writers’ Kay Snow Award for Poetry. Her Substack publication is @followingdandelion seeds (https://nurtureyourjourney.substack.com/)