By Ella Pringle

Tilted rain falls in such a spitter
that its small white strokes and dashes
descends like a gentle code,
unearthed to the naked eye.
Its frequent contact feels soft
on the skin and clothing,
dissolving as quickly as you can watch it.
It’s a tickle that flutters the eyelids until you can
only look at the ground,
at the small things beneath your feet.
From the time I’ve taken to catch a bus from
suburb to city heart,
the rain remains unchanged
in a white out of the sky,
a bright overcast.
But where it rushed to the ground
and collected in the garden beds of the grove;
where it sought the soil in a desperate breath,
trickled on tree branches and dripped
longingly down the length of the straight gum leaves
To the leaf litter below it,
The rain bounces reluctantly off warm tar here.
It’s announced in the fat tears streaming down
glass shells and the patter of dull steel instruments.
It sits in flat pools on the road,
runs hard against gutters as each tiny moment
is forced together in temporary streams;
held up on the stilt legs of concrete layered.
Ella Pringle is a creative and professional writer exploring how people perform in the modern plane. She is currently engaged in constructing short stories and poetry that have been featured in print by WhyNot.org, ScratchThat Magazine and editions of Glass. Her poetry has also been performed live for audiences through TEDxQUT and QUT Literary Salon. Ella hopes to become a recognisable Australian voice in the evolving literary landscape as she completes her studies in Creative Writing in Brisbane and looks forward to opportunities for further study as she expands her body of work into the future.