Driving Home from Tilghman Island in the Pouring Rain – a poem by Mary R. Finnegan

Driving Home from Tilghman Island in the Pouring Rain

Cloud-shackled sky. Field 
of winter-burnt wheat gleaming
in rain, seagrass bleached to brown. 
Power lines swaying. A lone 

farmhouse surrounded 
by wind-stripped trees. 
Through the cracked window, 
briny, pine-scented air. 

Static on the radio, a veil 
of rain on every road 
from here to home. The scent 
of incense, stale and musky, 

hangs in your hair and clothes. 
You lean forward in your seat, but
deceived by distance and dark, 
see no better than before.

The windshield wipers struggle 
and fail to keep pace 
with the storm. Tomorrow looms. 
Trash sputters across the road.

You think this drive will break you, 
leave you lonely in your loneliness, 
but I promise it is not too late 
for your sorrow-shackled heart.     
  
It’s only rain, and when it lifts, 
the world will open up 
and you will see that all, 
even the rain, is gift. 

Mary R. Finnegan is a writer and editor from Philadelphia. Her work has appeared in several places including The American Journal of Nursing, Lydwine, Catholic Digest, PILGRIM: A Journal of Catholic Experience. She is currently pursuing her MFA in poetry at The University of St. Thomas, Houston.