After the Rain

A Poem by Christina Baker

The storm spent, my sons splash in liquid mirrors

scattering the reflections of trees, clouds,

their faces, jubilant.

Their toes are tender wrinkled marshlands

riddled with rambling bayous and coulees.

They are saturated.

I’m gathering up the wind-blown sticks

when I hear a shout of discovery:

“Quick! Come look! It’s water!”

And of course it’s water, in this land of swamps,

hurricanes, ninety-percent humidity.

Here, there’s always water.

Yet the burbling storm drain calls them,

and they peer into the grate, marveling

at the underground stream.

There is nothing new under the sun,

nor under the retreating rainclouds,

yet they delight in every shining drop.

Christina Baker is a writer, homeschooler, and amateur gardener from Lafayette, LA.