It is raining in Africa
Dry river-beds host a newborn river
Young girls exchange glances with boys
while they fill their terracotta jugs with fresh water.
 
Women bathe their faces, their arms, their feet and wash
their cloths then, break for lunch with flat brown bread
that is made on an iron-dome over burning dried sticks.
 
It is raining in Africa
cracked face of soil heals, dirt becomes soft
patchy golden grass quenches its thirst
hopeful farmers look for seeds to sow.
 
It is raining in Africa
men make boats from fallen trees
little boys play at riverside
fishermen look for their forgotten nets.
 
Poets dip their toes in traveling stream,
their pens in half-dried ink jar
listen to water’s hum, write their poems.
 
It is raining in Africa
Spring gardens offer roses
and morning glories to walkers
fertile fields cradle the seeds of wheat and corn.
 
It is raining in Africa
Death takes a break giving life a chance
bitter tears become sweet, oceans and seas wait
to embrace a few rivers from once forgotten land.
 
Coming of polluted watersheds and stagnant swamps
isn’t too far, soon dry season will return to old desert
harsh rays of sun will burn body of thinned waters. 
                        *
Last night, I took a shower,
drank a glass of cold water from the faucet
turned out the light.
 
Last night, I dreamt it’s raining in Africa.

 
Narges Rothermel, a retired nurse, writes in Farsi and English.
Author of poetry books, Wild Flowers, and Rays and Shadows.
She is on the board of advisory for Nassau County Poet Laureate Society.