I ain’t talkin bout lil pwee-pwee rain that swish
An last for t’ree or four minutes an finish.
I ain’t talkin bout fine-drizzles that kill Sam-Coakey
Because he stand out in the yard just makin joke-y;
I ain’t talkin bout rain that last for a hour or two
After the east bank-up an yur do what yur got to do.
When yur got time to bring in the lambs an sheep
Or pick up the clothes from offa the trees.
I talkin bout solid, solid rain that won’t cease.
Rain that is thick like a white cotton sheet!
Rain in the mornin, rain at noon
An when yur sit to eat yur supper with a spoon.
An all the water pipes is open in the skies.
Rain when yur sleep an rain when yur rise.
It rainin like when Noah enter the ark.
Rain that got the house dark, dark, dark.
Every hole chink up with cloths; windows shut;
The door half open for us to peep out.
Rain when the two rooms in the shingle house
Got buckets, pans an bowls everywhere about
An as the drops fall drip-drip, drip-drip.
An all yur hearin is plip-plip, plip-plip.
An I talking bout rain that’s continual
Where ‘tis impossible to cook in the kitchen wall
Cause the ashes in the fireplace form a soppy ball.
An the wood! Well, don’t talk bout that at all!
Dis is rain
When a cruder bag is place inside by the door
To rest the coal-pot on, so yur don’t burn-up the floor.
Yur light the coals with a piece o’ cement sack
Dip in kerosene, to replace the wood that crack.
Dis is rain
When special meals are make
Like banana flitters, an lil fry cakes
An lime bush tea or cornmeal pap.
An yur hold yur plate of food in yur lap.
An yur t’ank God that for once in the year
It ain’t got no pigeon pea soup nowhere.
An dis is rain
When everything in the house feel damp
When one or two of the sheep get cramp
Yur go outside the heavy animals to get
An every piece of clothes yur got on is wet.
Yur bring ‘em inside the lil wooden shed
To get some heat so that they don’t dead.
Through the open door in this strange weather
Yur see the yard-fowls with all them feathers
Look like they stick with clammy-cherry.
The poor tings look like they legs they can’t carry.
Dis is rain
When lightinin an t’under got war in the skies
An the clouds an the wind actin like spies.
The blinkin lightnin dancin pachanga
The t’under soundin like prat-a tang-a-tanga.
Yur jump outa yur skin in fear
An yur frighten mother utter a lil prayer.
“Lord have mercy on we poor sinners.”
An we consume the lass of our dinner.
A faded patch work sheet she clutch fass, fass
To throw over the one broken lookin glass
An she warn us, of metal, don’t touch anyting
An we must remove we bracelets an earrings
Because if a t’underbolt ever strike
We all gur ennup dead…..an that we won’t like.
Yes! I talking bout rain
When all o ’we children, cousin, sister an brother
Playin and rompin with one another.
No cussin, no fightin, we singin loud for so
The rain songs we learn from the radio.
Dis is rain
When yur hear all kinds o’ ole-time sagas.
Who buil’ the Anglican church altars;
Who caan see God face cause them work obeah;
How Daisy gone crazy cause her rival comb her hair.
About the sloop from neighbourin French St. Martin
That catch afire down below Dog Island;
Who steal Aunty Rosa poulet hen;
How our sailors got stranded in nineteen eleven
An the folks here believe them all was dead,
But, Praise God, they back home in their own bed.
Dis is rain
When yur learn bout every cousin yur ever had.
An bout all yur slave ancestors, the good and the bad,
From West End to East End; not Island Harbour!
Them come from Ireland, way over yonder.
Yur learn of how your great great graafather
An the great, great uncle of Matilda
Was two brother and sister children
An that is information yur can’t comprehen.
“Yur know Melsadis by that tree, loblolly
After yur pass the ole lady name Nin Polly?
All them is we family, we is one blood.”
An that is information still not understood.
An dis is rain
When from the oldest person to the baby that creep
Don’t have to wash off before them sleep.
Yur say yur “Our Father”, an yur jump straight in bed
That’s a sack o’ lodgins on the floor to lay yur head.
Tis so cold that yur trembillin all over.
An yur stealin the other six children cover.
An dis is rain
Cause when yur wake up the nex day yur mother in a spot
Wonderin if she should send yur school or not.
So as soon as she see lil bit o’ blue in the east
She tell yur “Run, run! Shelter under the trees.”
Murky, murky water in the potholes an the ditch.
The mud between yur toes sayin “Squish, squish, squish.”
The ironin gone outa yur hair an it crinkly, crinkly
An yur naked foots is wrinkly, wrinkly.
An dis is rain
Because in the one room building that is our school
Few of us bundle up an for once we form the fool.
Not one class is outside under the trees
Or on the school cistern enjoyin the breeze.
Come afternoon, I can’t recall what I learn
Cause the noise in that place had sound like a barn.
But before we leave, we say our prayers
An the teachers inform us all to beware.
“Lightning is dangerous, children, please
No standing under any tawl trees.”
An ‘tis a wonderful ting the rich mothers to see
Comin their dainty children to meet
With nice pretty, plastic readymade raincoats
And rainbow umbrellas shape like upside down boats.
An not so rich mothers, laced with love,
Get soppin wet with the rain from above.
They chookin the corners of a brown sugar sack
To make protection for them daughters’ head an back
An the poor an rich children struttin with style
An lookin at we with a scornful smile.
I look up at the clouds not so far away
An reflect on what some neighbours say
That grey clouds send more rain than the black.
So prepare for another water attack
And the water tanks will overflow.
Cause the rain ain’t got nowhere else to go.
My godfather, a scholarly man is he
Tell Pa, “A storm is passing across the sea.”
“Whar ti is you say there, Mr. Gumbs?”
Once a week by us he comes.
“A storm is passing across the sea.”
And this rain for many days we’ll see.”
So now we know without a doubt
Whar all this ton o’ rain is about.
Nov. 23rd, 2003
