Boys Sees Rain for the First Time by Zenobia Frost

Is it your mum who first shows me this?
An outback baptism – and you in uniform
red gumboots, yellow raincoat, in a puddle.

Your hands stretch, fingers splayed to take
more, to be as drenched as possible for
this outback baptism – and you in uniform.

At the photo’s core, your face – six years old –
lit up, humbled, at the foot of wet fireworks.
More! You want to be as drenched as possible.

I learned early not to gawk at snow or sun.
Hell, I was born in rain. I never
lit up, humbled, at the foot of fireworks

deployed by gods. I was handfed weather.
But: that first time that we met –
hell, I was born in rain: I never

try on Hollywood for size, but jeez:
you, umbrella-less, wearing half the sky.
That first time that we met

I think my face may have done the thing
your face did in that first rain in Bowen.
You, umbrella-less, giving half the sky.

 

 

 

Zenobia Frost is a writer from Brisbane, Australia. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in Overland, Cordite, The Lifted Brow, Scum, ARC, Woolf Pack, and in the recent Hunter Anthology of Contemporary Feminist Poetry. Zenobia’s debut collection, Salt and Bone, is available from Walleah Press. Find out more about Zenobia at www.zenobiafrost.com. Follow her on Twitter @zenfrost