Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse

changed,
    halfway between snow and rain,
    sleet,
    glazing the earth.
    Until at last
    it slipped into rain,
    light as mist.
    It was the kindest
    kind of rain
    that fell.
    Soft and then a little heavier,
    helping along
    what had already fallen
    into the
    hard-pan
    earth
    until it
    rained,
    steady as a good friend
    who walks beside you,
    not getting in your way,
    staying with you through a hard time.
    And because the rain came
    so patient and slow at first,
    and built up strength as the earth
    remembered how to yield,
    instead of washing off,
    the water slid in,
    into the dying ground
    and softened its stubborn pride,
    and eased it back toward life.
    And then,
    just when we thought it would end,
    after three such gentle days,
    the rain
    came
    slamming down,
    tons of it,
    soaking into the ready earth
    to the primed and greedy earth,
    and soaking deep.
    It kept coming,
    thunder booming,
    lightning
    kicking,
    dancing from the heavens
    down to the prairie,
    and my father
    dancing with it,
    dancing outside in the drenching night
    with the gutters racing,
    with the earth puddled and pleased,
    with my father’s near-finished pond filling.
    When the rain stopped,
    my father splashed out to the barn,
    and spent
    two days and two nights
    cleaning dust out of his tractor,
    until he got it running again.
    In the dark, headlights shining,
    he idled toward the freshened fields,
    certain the grass would grow again,
    certain the weeds would grow again,
    certain the wheat would grow again too.
    May 1935

The Rain’s Gift
    The rain
    has brought back some grass
    and the ranchers
    have put away the
    feed cake
    and sent their cattle
    out to graze.
    Joe De La Flor
    is singing in his saddle again.
    May 1935

Hope Smothered
    While I washed up dinner dishes in the pan,
    the wind came from the west
    bringing—
    dust.
    I’d just stripped all the gummed tape from the
    windows.
    Now I’ve got dust all over the clean dishes.
    I can hardly make myself
    get started cleaning again.
    Mrs. Love is taking applications
    for boys to do CCC work.
    Any boy between eighteen and twenty-eight can join.
    I’m too young
    and the wrong sex
    but what I wouldn’t give to be
    working for the CCC
    somewhere far from here,
out of the dust.
    May 1935

Sunday Afternoon at the Amarillo Hotel
    Everybody gathered at
    the Joyce City Hardware and Furniture Company
    on Sunday
    to hear Mad Dog Craddock
    sing on WDAG
    from the Amarillo Hotel.
    They hooked up speakers
    and the sweet sound
    of Mad Dog’s voice
    filled the creaky aisles.
    Arley Wanderdale was in Amarillo with Mad Dog,
    singing and playing the piano,
    and the Black Mesa Boys were there
    too.
    I ached for not being there with them.
    But there was nothing more most folks in Joyce City
    wanted to do
    than spend a half hour
    leaning on counters,
    sitting on stairs,
    resting in chairs,
    staring at the hardware
    and the tableware,
    listening to hometown boys
    making big-time music
    on the radio.
    They kept time in the aisles,
    hooting after each number,
    and when Mad Dog finished his last song, they sent
    the dust swirling,
    cheering and whooping,
    patting each other on the back,
    as if they’d been featured
    on WDAG themselves.
    I tried cheering for Mad Dog with everyone else,
    but my throat
    felt like a trap had
    snapped down on it.
    That Mad Dog, he didn’t have
    a thing to worry about.
    He sang good, all right.
    He’ll go far as he wants.
    May 1935

Baby
    Funny thing about babies.
    Ma died having one,
    the Lindberghs said good night to one and lost it,
    and somebody
    last Saturday
    decided to
    give one away.
    Reverend Bingham says
    that Harley Madden
    was sweeping the dust out of church,
    shining things up for Sunday service,
    when he swept himself up to a package
    on the north front steps.
    He knelt,
    studying the parcel,
    and called to Reverend Bingham,
    who came right by and opened the package up.
    It held a living baby.
    Reverend Bingham took it to Doc Rice.
    Doc checked it, said it was fine,
    only small,
    less