A Tale of Thirst

Clouds billow their shoulders
high above the caked-dry earth.
Evil bones of drought leave
casualties along the roadside;
dust-covered and bleak.
No one bothers to open
their windows when
the wind sends its gusts into town -
to spend the night alone
and weave ropes of despair
that choke the brittle trees and
grey houses with pulverous mists.
Ghost flowers clack their fetters,
mourning the desolate spark
of a dazzling Spring.

It is then I hear the earth whisper,
It was a Thursday -
three whole months ago,
when the sky last laughed
and cried and shouted;
joyously spending its wrath
into my ardent embrace.

Though the memory is sweet,
it too, is parching -
while waiting for
the rain.


© 2002 Melissa Songer