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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.

Including me.

10/07/2020

Author's Note: I have no idea what else to do about us.

Posted on 10/07/2020
Copyright © 2020 Maria Kintner

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