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
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