A Little Feminist Rain

By Tessa Denton

They always warn of our Seattle rain, downpour–

an umbrella the nod of a foreigner.

They repeat the rain in complaints,

of coats on costumes

and the inconvenience of our gloom.

On our pacific coastline,

they don’t see the things we grow.


The things we grow

between grassy mosses, mushrooms blooming

from the crevices of the Earth,

an interconnected system of intersecting selves

where we huddle but don’t hide.

The frogs serenade in solidarity

as we struggle to steal sleep.

Old ideas gathered these clouds that

meteorology can’t measure,

crested on snow-crusted Rainier in eulogy

of the names we honor in our flood.


So, first comes rain –

comes unrest, protest, resistant crowds

of droplets drowning clogged street drains.

So first, we have to scream, hike barefoot over muds

that streak social, political, perpetual strain

on our drenched bodies.


Spot the dandelion on the Space Needle’s highest point –

something you call a weed

will spread everywhere you don’t want us.

You might not like the rain,

but nothing will grow without it.

We will seek a necessary skyline of gray

to sprout our dreams in sidewalk cracks.


For all that,

wouldn’t you say a little rain’s worth it?


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Badass Womxn and Enbies in the Pacific Northwest Volume 2 Copyright © 2023 by Badass Zine Machine is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.