He sleeps on while I awake
to hear rain on the roof
lie snug listening to a
long familiar sound
pattering, gathering strength
and force until
it pounds
and the roof resounds.
Gasping with sudden
shattering realisation
I grab for the breathers,
the suits,
scream for the children.
It does not rain
here on Mars.
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem was published as ‘Rain’ Star*Line Volume 42, Issue 2 –the in-house print journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association.
The Cheesesellers Wife 
Nice twist in the poem, Kim. The weather sounds a bit like what we’re experiencing in Australia at the moment.
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I thought it was fires rater than rain?
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I was thinking of the lack of air, due to all the smoke. It’s like we need breathers.
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Oh, I see….. :)
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I too love the twist. Imaginative!
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Thank you Betty!
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