We’re entering the wet season now, and this week’s poem, by Jay Franzel, recalls the magic of the rain’s flow, as seen and felt by a child. I love how he describes the quivering rush that all of us have likely felt when we’ve reached out our fingers into the stream to touch.

Franzel lives in Wayne, happily retired after working with at-risk youth for over 30 years. He is the organizer of the Bookey Readings poetry series in Hallowell, and looks forward to those and other readings resuming in the future.


By Jay Franzel

Rain streams over asphalt
rippling toward the sidewalk,
rubbing the curb.
Black grains darken the water,
wrappers clinging to sticks.
A young boy runs alongside,
racing paper bits down the hill.
There’s candy at the General Store,
but he stops to touch,
like a shiver of trout to wet fingers,
a fluttering leaf at the watery grate.

Megan Grumbling is a poet and writer who lives in Portland. Deep Water: Maine Poems is produced in collaboration with the Maine Writers & Publishers Alliance. “Runoff,” copyright 2016 by Jay Franzel, appears by permission of the author.

Only subscribers are eligible to post comments. Please subscribe or to participate in the conversation. Here’s why.

Use the form below to reset your password. When you've submitted your account email, we will send an email with a reset code.

filed under: