Rain has not fallen
on these parched hills
for months–
bowl-shaped reservoirs
speak of want and emptiness,
shrunken camellias
stunted in place
mark the space
formerly known as a garden.
The hillsides are brown,
a paper bag
folded flat.
Trees hold leaves,
but distressed they are–
hanging on, sending roots deep
seeking moisture to live.
The ground is cracked, dry, thirsty,
screaming for water.

And I sit here
while you cry, an
unstoppable river
emptying you out
to the last drop (for now)
of the pain, the past,
the power you no longer have,
letting go because
you are thirsty-
waiting for the water to wash,
rush through,
carry the debris down the ravine
cut by the knife that has pierced your heart.

There is a river coming
here for you–
endlessly moving,
rushing (always)
to those in the lowest places,
Water unending to
quench your thirst.

Don’t just stand at the edge
reaching for a drink
cup in hand, filling and emptying
again and again.

You’ll have to jump in
and be swept away.

J. L. Collins 2012
Aliso Creek, Laguna Beach, CA, by the Author

Sharing today in Community with LL for On, In and Around Mondays, Laura for Playdates,
and dVerse Poets for Open Link Night 57–Join us!
%d bloggers like this: