by Mercedes Lawry
What can I say out here in the field of scorched grass?
How long will it take for the water to disappear?
Rivers thin to trickles, to dry rocks and bruised stones.
The many stars in a smoky haze, uncounted.
Yellow trees wither in the gasp of drought.
Time spits and falters.
My voice is but wind passing through.
I search for what is small and remarkable,
a leaf with golden tributaries,
a crisped curl of bark.
Mercedes Lawry’s most recent book is Small Measures from ELJ Editions. She’s also published Vestiges from Kelsay Books, three chapbooks and poems in journals such as Nimrod and Alaska Quarterly Review. Additionally, she’s published short fiction and stories and poems for children.
Strong, clear impressions