The Rain in Utah

We used to lay on the hot cement shivering
after we swam. A quick lick of the concrete 
confirmed it hadn’t changed since 
the last time we stuck out our tongues — 
it tasted like scorched Utah sand 
under the branches of the apricot tree. 

Don’t eat the apricots before you swim, 
you’ll get cramps! Mom calls 
us in for hot dogs and potato chips, 
and we peel off running to eat, grabbing towels 
because we only use them for capes. 

One black night the lightening illuminates the pool 
again and again like a glowing blue kidney bean. 
The thunder rattles the plate glass windows— 
and my little brother and I—we watch
from the tv room on our stomachs. We learn
some things are as good as cartoons.


“The Rain in Utah” by Gwendolyn Soper

Source: Nine Mile, Spring Issue 2022, Vol. 10, No. 1. Click here to order a copy.

Voetica, Berkeley-based site dedicated to spoken poetry. To hear the author read this poem, click here.

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