an oasis for all this thirst.
Let them come and drink of me, my brokenness
spilling in shards of tears. Waiting For Rain Again I am thinking of the drought, the parched earthoutside my door, the plant the gardener killedwith water from the pool, in desperate times,we try everything. I have mastered the art of bathingfrom a bucket. I know a lady with seven water tanksin her forever-green backyard, she says they're not enough. There are poor people in this countrywho've never had running water, who carry pailsfull from the river on their heads. Sandwiched in pews, their only prayer is for rainto start their produce growing again, perhapsbefore the next set of school fees are due. Poor people in thick circles dancing for rain. Obeah men getting extra business for rain.Still, it has not rained. And who knew an empty tap could have me in tears.Perhaps, I am grieving for all the dying things, people in this desert looking out, looking in.Perhaps, I am giving up myself as a tank, as a city river,an oasis for all this thirst.Let them come and drink of me, my brokennessspilling in shards of tears.
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