We Even Write When It Rains
Branches burdened
with blossoms catch
my glance but they keep pointing
to the same green tree.
The downpour weeps
deeply wet. Wastebaskets,
full. A delivery
of new words
has been delayed.
On the page
the spaces pace.
We know
this poem.
Takes its
goddamn
sweet time.
Won’t bother
to ring the bell.
That shuffling
on the rug,
just the first
verse
wiping
its feet.
--Karen Kraco
We Even Write When It Rains first appeared in Minnesota Poetry Calendar, 2000
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