Thrush Poetry Journal
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Rebecca Givens Rolland
​

There Fell in the North
 
Yesterday, there fell in the north a fine blackish rain.—Andreus Hurard
 
Rain’s charged with ash. Didn’t anyone tell you? No. No
one would have. Carry an umbrella? 
 
Impossible. Rain’s sediment-swollen. Fire’s
aftermath. Why am I the only
 
one to see? I bend. My dress fills with black rain. I lose constellations as I walk. Steal the dog-star. 
 
Telegraph wires break. Houses sweep off. Two horses,
 
whinnying, drown. I kick one shin to its brother. Alive. Exodusincreasing, newspapers blare. A whole night
 
of hurrying people. School friends pack bags, beg 
off precious things. Only 
 
to be turned off soon. Soldiers arrive—to save
or trap us? Mad surge. No food. The shouts
 
of people fighting in the streets. What foolishness, 
thinking we’re better
 
elsewhere. Here, at the river,
I try vanishing, the only clear choice—umbrella 
 
over face, ash-rain lashing, taste
of every rumor my breath my hope my mouth—​




Rebecca Givens Rolland won the 2011 Dana Award in Short Fiction, poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Witness, Kenyon Review, Cincinnati Review, Gettysburg Review, Georgia Review, Many Mountains Moving, Versal, American Letters & Commentary, and Meridian. Her first book, The Wreck of Birds, won the 2011 May Sarton New Hampshire First Book Prize and was published by Bauhan Publishing. rebeccagrolland.com




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