Deliverance

Last summer was dry Grass turned brittle Beetles devoured roses Fumes from sweltering engines swept over dusty streets like ghosts. The ground cracked. Bits of dirt crumbled in my hands. Bone dry desert thoughts Puffy lip,tongue cleaving thoughts like what if memories become mirages? Wild thoughts clothed in sackcloth and ashes like what if grief grafts itself into my soul so deeply it becomes who I am? That summer,loneliness cleaved to me pulling me down to the dust until I could taste it. It was a dry,sere summer. I prayed for sun darkening clouds so that rain would trickle down your body cleansing you from pain. Your courage cracked. As you prayed for death bits of hope crumbled in my hands. My eyes searched yours. Like a vapor or a mist, your spirit left. In but a moment you were no longer there. by Barbara Aquila