The Dowser’s Ear

Empty cattle trailers

               Rumbled dummy thunder

Down the road all day, and now tonight,

Heat lightning flashes more of the same fake rain.

It’s just as well. I couldn’t get to sleep,

And now it ricochets across the sky

With empty loads of light. We’ve had a month

Of drought that tightens dirt around my pond.

The local wells are dry. But I’ve retired,

Threw out my wand. I hate this time of year.

            

               Roux can burn if flour

               Sticks in skillet butter.

I’ve been cooking up a storm myself,

My Daddy’s filé gumbo recipe.

He used to be a chef on oil rigs

Until the hurricane. I heard the waves

That killed him, and I hear them every year.

It’s emptiness that fills me. That’s my skill.

I hear the vacant rain before it falls.

It’s like the murmur of a spiraled shell.

         

               Hurricane weather, stewing

               Deep for landfall, spewing

Rain-a-plenty in the Gulf and here

In Tennessee they always have a lack

Of something. Two men called today for wells.

I told them both to go to hell, and now

They think I’m sinful, not to use my skill.

They stand to lose so much, but don’t we all.

I lost a lot in Hurricane Camille

And even now can’t hear the end of it.

               More heat lightning flashes,

               Absent rain that passes

Over clouds, and I can make it out,

Each gurgling current under withered fields,

Down kitchen drains. The neighbors think I’m crazy,

Up all hours, but they’ll never know

The screaming voice inside a breaker’s rage

Or how it simmers in my ear. I hate

The sound of water. Give me one good chance

To make it silent. I’d be right as rain.