this small rain sambas on San Vicente
wanders through Whittier
mambos past Montebello
and East L.A.
this small rain moves like a Latina
over-plucks her eyebrows
drinks Tequila shooters
fronts a girl-band
this small rain works two jobs
dawdles in downpours
this small rain seeds clouds
this small rain drives to Vegas in a tormenta
has a friend in Jesus
needs boots and a winter coat
in this drought-wracked city,
this small rain dreams of flash floods,
depósitos, indigo lakes,
cisterns, high water,
Big Gulps, endless refills
in this drought-wracked city,
this small rain settles on the hierba seca
sleeps under freeways
plays the lotto
is unlucky in love
this small rain longs to hose down the highways
this small rain chases storms
this small rain has a tsunami in her heart
this small rain kamikazes
in the gutter
suicides on summer sidewalks
dreams of a deluge
that overflows the river banks
washes L.A. clean
in this drought-wracked city,
this small rain scans the heavens,
looking for a monsoon,
searching for su Salvador in the
reclaimed desert sky.

—Poem was a finalist in the 2014 Kind of a Hurricane Press, Editor’s Choice Contest, and was first published in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily (17 July 2015); republished here by author’s permission.

Bio: Alexis Rhone Fancher