by Annette Gagliardi
This fiery tomb; this empty oven —
dry as Sahara sand, parched beyond dust.
Desiccation’s long since provided
any small dampness. This
body shrinks while it stands
stoically — waiting for water.
Which eventually arrives —
— This drop. This new drop;
This is the one that will suffice.
This sprinkling of fluids that
fulfill and refresh — Gods’
shower of life’s renewal.
This cool, moisture drips energy —
increasing its liquid flow
into my dehydrated body.
My past extinguished; my barren,
seared life is doused in a torrent
that renews me with juices bound to ancient ashes.
This drop is all that matters. It funnels
to my roots. Daisies and Daffodils rise
up and bloom along my arms.
My moss, lain dead and brown,
softly colors again. Willow
branches become green and tender.
I am full again.
I am whole. This drop.
This moisture renews, restores
revives to sustain existence.
Annette Gagliardi is the current Poet Laureate for the League of Minnesota Poets, the president for the Mississippi Valley Poets & Writers, Secretary for her Parish Council and Des Moines PEN women, and anchoress for the Annunciation Seven Sisters group. If you want anything done, ask a busy woman.
Add your first comment to this post