March 2018

Back to Issue 3


By Alison Thompson

After months of dry weather garlands of rain

fill the empty dam – six inches in a single night –


as I lie semi- awake, my insomniac brain gauging each drop,

measuring each wave and surge in the fan-resistant heat.


Thoughts swell in my consciousness like poisonous toads

emerging from mud-sleep – their shrill croaking set on repeat.


At dawn the rain ceases and the mind-toads retreat.

I swim free of my bedclothes, breathe air. Daybreak,


with its piss-weak sun, brings with it a watery kind of hope

and I get up, shower and dress, call myself an optimist.