Living in a rain forest
you would think we would have
more than one umbrella.
No, we have seen first hand what
a sloppy Southeaster does
to cloth and a flimsy frame,
turning it inside out, jerking
it from our hand
and tossing it into
Gold Creek.
We face the rain
head on, cold, fresh
and true.
Our jeans are damp,
our halibut jackets never
free of the scent
of wet wool
and there’s talk
our toes grow together.
— Mary Lou Spartz
• Mary Lou writes poetry and plays. She grew up in Juneau and has lived in Fairbanks and Anchorage. She is a charter member of the Burn Thompson Writer’s Group. The Capital City Weekly accepts submissions of poetry, fiction and nonfiction for Writers’ Weir. To submit a piece for consideration, email us at editor@juneauempire.com.
