How Pluviophile

and petrichor are the real stars
of the English language, how they

mean rain and more rain, deep green
rain, large clear blots on the windshield

reflecting the dazzling colors of brake lights,
streetlights, porch lights, headlights, green

and red and white as Christmas. How they
patter and roll. How we always overdo things,

rushing out into the wet under a yellow umbrella
to be the one sun, the one moving body in a stand

of solemn trees. How the smell of rain means
that a man will leave again, and the faces of daffodils

will shiver like children grieving. How loving the rain
becomes habit, like tonguing a mouth wound open.

 

 



Click here to read Meghan Sterling on the origin of the poem.

Image: photo by Jessica Knowlden on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.

Meghan Sterling:As a working mother of a young child and a poet, I find myself craving time and quiet. I wake each morning as early as I can muster to have quiet time to dive into myself and write — it’s the gift I give myself each day. Sometimes it’s ten minutes, sometimes it is an hour. Waking up to write at dawn brings me closer to source, to the past, to the future, the circularity of it, the solitude of it, it is like death as a release, but my death I get to witness each morning and start again. The morning I wrote this poem, there had been deep winter rainfall, and I was remembering rainfall from my tropical childhood, how the rain exploded into the endless green. I was also remembering old friends, and associating deep rainfall with the end of relationships. I collect words, and the words Pluviophile (rain-lover) and Petrichor (smell of rain on dry earth) came to me as the launching point into the beauty and melancholy I was feeling. So I started with those two words, and they led me into surprising places.

Meghan Sterling
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