Drought

 

It’s not nothing. It’s just something

New. Not green, but brown. Not growing,

Gone. Thirst stiffens leaves to tongues

Too thick to speak: no clinging tendrils

Sigh windblown. Dry branches click,

Skin tearing skin. It’s “drought

Abandon”: shed what shows,

To save what stays. Shunt

To the root. Bloom, beauty,

Foliage, now revealed as

Junk. Don’t be tree,

Be trunk. The stomata, tiny

Pores, all hold their breath.

The grandest stand wilts,

Droops, contorts: all twists

Respected, none ridiculous

As death. Bereft of rain, you

Curl, tilt, fade. And shun

The once-bestowing Sun:

By it, betrayed. Beneath

A sky of haughty blue, who

Knew? That you could lose

So much, and still

Be you.