A Wistful Storm

By Lillian Flood

In all her many years, the woman did not think she ever witnessed anything as ugly as rain. It wasn’t just the way it stuck to the ground, leaving muddy piles all over the city, littering the sidewalks with grime and built-up trash.


By Sumlina Alam

Under my umbrella,
I watch the clear drops descend.

They hurl, abiding gravity,
As they run, far away,
From the hands of the sky.

It makes sense for the clouds to darken,
To yowl in pain,
And to jolt fear across the land.