Water is often an inspiration for me, and I find this week that has been especially true. Perhaps it is because I’m a Pisces that I’ve always loved to be in the rain, to feel the water on my skin and smell it in the air. Yesterday, though the sky was filled with grey clouds, I went for a swim. The act of swimming opened my senses and propelled me to write this poem.

Submerged in ice cold water
I swim through waves, ripples
gliding through water with my arms
pushing through blacks bugs
floating on the surface
brought in from the rains.

I needed to feel this today, needed the chill
to wake me, free me, make me alive.

Diving under, sounds fill underneath
swept into a watery vacuum
the water is too blue, heavy with chlorine
too full, brimming at the walls
nearly breaching the surface.

I emerge, dripping, cold
the pool is empty
I stay to write.

Listening to sounds of small birds
singing in the trees around me
cars passing, a young child playing.
the cawing of a black crow
it flies from tree to tree gracefully
spreading its black wings.

I need the solitude of this hour.

The ever present sound of semi-trucks
humming on the highway behind me
the sun hides itself behind grey clouds
they move ominously, darkening
threatening a storm to come.

I put away my pen
ease into the waters depths
a few more laps
then I will depart
raindrops on my back
the yellow school bus
trundling down the road
bringing my children

Copyright May 19 2016 Stacie Eirich 

Louisiana Rain

watercolor art @yevgeniawatts.com

Louisiana is the wettest place that I have ever lived. The sky opens up and pours rain for days at a time. It’s also the hottest place I’ve ever lived, where 100 degree sun beats down upon you from June through September, baking every flowering plant that tries to grow into oblivion. The things and people that live here understand that they need to be resilient, to find a way to cope with extremes.

Louisianans go out in the rain, barefoot — they help dig ditches, put on a pot of beans to simmer and proudly wave purple and gold flags outside their doors. The rain doesn’t stop the parades or the random street bands — doesn’t stop them putting on their boots and boiling up some crawfish. The heat doesn’t stop them from spending the summer in the sun, fishing and swimming in the muddy lake water that feels like a warm bath.


The longer I stay in Louisiana, the more I begin to feel it creeping into my bones, settling there like an old friend or a memory. I always loved the rain, but this rain is different from the cold Midwestern rains that came and went fast, leaving a chill behind. Southern rain is slower, warmer, longer — and lingers afterward. Southern heat is also slower, longer — lingering for many months, hanging in the air as if to say “I belong here.”

I’m not sure yet if I belong here, in the rain, the heat which is so much a part of the fabric of Louisiana. Each year I feel a bit more a part of it, but not completely of it. Perhaps this will always be true, no matter how long I live here or where I move after.

This morning, like many mornings here, I woke to rain. And I wrote.

Louisiana Rain 

House quiet, asleep, early morning
rain tip-tapping at my window
soft piano music tinkling
grey light falls through the slats.

I sit, watching the rain
its constant fall from the roof
dripping in a steady stream
soaking soft ground below.

This grey day hangs in a mist around me
enfolding me in a drowsy, still-sleepy state
a stillness, as the raindrops
move around me, dancing lightly.

They tempt me to come outside
my bare feet sinking into wet grass
face upturned to the open sky
tasting warm drops on my tongue.

Copyright May 17 2016 Stacie Eirich