Posts Tagged ‘drought’

When it’s dry here,
the clay in the soil shrinks,
its particles pulling
more tightly together
until deep cracks form in the earth,
a force so powerful
it can damage foundations.
This makes me wonder
about how we, too,
storied to have come from clay,
can crack in times of drought.
I have felt it, drought of love,
drought of touch, drought of death,
drought of compassion and justice.
And I have known, too, the miracle
of how when the drought is over,
the clay of my soul expands again,
absorbing what it most needs.
Is it strange how much comfort
I take in knowing it’s natural,
that cracking is what we do,
it’s part of the cycle.
Of course, the cracking.
And of course, the healing.
I am awed by its force
and how little it takes,
even a small bit of rain,
for deep healing to begin.

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In a time of drought
let me choose to love you
the way yucca blooms—
creamy, abundant, soft—
despite drought.
No. Because drought.

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Oh green, I miss you,

miss how you used

to flourish in me,

no matter how brittle,

how brown I’d become.

I didn’t know then

I took you for granted.

I miss your softness,

your tenderness,

all the promise inside you,

the sunlight you carry

in your veins.

Some days I remember

what it is to be green.

Some days, when it’s gray,

I tell myself green is possible again.

Some days, when the rain

still doesn’t fall,

I practice how to break.

Some days, I swear I’ll find a way

to become green again,

no matter how unlikely,

how parched this field.

Somedays, though I long since

forgot how to pray,

the prayers find me anyway

and my empty hands

will not come down.

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At last, the rain,

a furious rain,

that turned into

tiny fists of hail,

shredding leaves

and pummeling

everything it met,


it rained as if

one day, charged

with intensity,

might change

a hundred days

of drought—


and, oh, the world after,

bruised and shining, still thirsty.











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One Bidding




waking to rain 

what is driest in me 

reshapes itself  

into a beggar’s bowl 

puts itself in my hands 

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One Drought



just doing my homework

said the rain cloud

the mesa still dust dry

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After the Drought



even my worry

decides to kick off its shoes

and play in the rain—

forgetting for a moment

its soggy gray socks

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in the relentless drought,

finding inside me

a pond somehow still present,

an unstoppable,

insistent spring

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In the red mud, in the muck,

in the day’s surplus of luck,

the sudden rains make flood of wish

and fill the road with detritus

and we are stranded where we are

the roads all closed, and still, I hear

inside, some voice, insistent,

chanting More, more.

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Praise the summer, with its

endless drought. How you’d rather

revile it, change it, pray

for the world to be another way.

Praise the sky, relentlessly clear,

and the dry field that crunches

beneath your feet.

You dream of green, dream

of laughing in the rain, dream

of puddles and the thin river

rising. But praise the scarcity,

how it teaches you what

you would rather not know—

how fragile the balance,

how every drop matters,

how lucky it is

to grow.


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