Drought

The drought-by Emily Sturgill 9/12/14

The land drinks

no fresh tears.

my inkwell runs dry.

 

all the words

I long to share

got caught up

into the netting

of the sky.

 

all the words

like fruit ripened

I long to scatter

upon the lips of

the hungry,

 

like milk & honey.

but I can’t…

 

for there is a hunger

that swallows the land

and syllables evade even

me.

 

 

The land drinks

no fresh tears.

my inkwell runs dry.CAM01103

 

 

 

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