Rainmakers, 1891
Eighteen months and not so much
as a spit of rain. Dirt stained
the horizon red; tumbleweeds
lined fences around scorched fields.
They say war makes the rain.
Day and night, the boys
tore at the sky, counted
the government’s dimes. No more
hand-wringing, no more prayer.
They flew bomb balloons, dynamite kites,
shoved explosives down prairie dog holes,
cannons reported in heaven.
The engineer would happily
show his letters, austere
signatures of all the decorated
officers you please—they told it the same—
raging battle then invariably violent rain.
The last balloon blossomed
into a globe of fire, illuminated
every object for miles—then
several dark seconds,
silent and open as the mouths of onlookers—
the inevitable crack, concussion,
birds taking flight and somehow
distant lightning.
- Sundress Reads: Review of Under The Rain - May 6, 2026
- Project Bookshelf: Brianna Eaton - May 6, 2026
- Project Bookshelf: Tara Rahman - May 6, 2026



