200 Days Without Rain
by Maria Kintner
Who is wondering where we’ve gone?
How dry the fields must be,
as we become nourishment for beasts,
A leftover grain or blade of grass.
Fragrant and sticky in the heat.
The sun is finally setting,
and I am nothing but flames.
You don’t even leave a shadow,
but let me consume myself.
A fistful of soot and ash,
under a moon, who keeps all your secrets.
Author's Note: I have no idea what else to do about us.
Posted on 10/07/2020
Copyright © 2020 Maria Kintner