Summer Downpour on Campus
By Juliana Gray
When clouds turn heavy, rich
and mottled as an oyster bed,
when the temperature drops so fast
that fog conjures itself inside the cars,
as if the parking lots were filled
with row upon row of lovers,
when my umbrella veils my face
and threatens to reverse itself
at every gust of wind, and rain
lashes my legs and the hem of my skirt,
but I am walking to meet a man
who’ll buy me coffee and kiss my fingers—
what can be more beautiful, then,
than these boys sprinting through the storm,
laughing, shouldering the rain aside,
running to their dorms, perhaps to class,
carrying, like torches, their useless shoes?
Copyright Credit: Reprinted from The Louisville Review, (No. 59, Spring 2006) by permission of the author. Copyright © 2006 by Juliana Gray, whose most recent book of poetry is The Man Under My Skin, River City Publishing, 2005.
Source: 2006