Poetry | Desert | Lifecycle | 7–11–7–11 / 2–6–2–6
Time Congeals
Events leave marks once finished, no matter how diminished
Trigger Warning: Discusses animal death.
A dying dog’s blood weeps black,
miniature mudslide beside the roadside.
The rest of the pack looked back,
yipping clipped cries for their pal whose well ran dry.
One day
passes in the still heat.
Two months
unfold without a rain.
Minor mountains manifest,
huddled hills ringing around a tiny dent.
Ants, beetles, lizards, and pests,
exhumed the mean tomb as they came and then went.
One cloud
catches on a high peak.
Two winds
whip the wetness contained.
Dribbles drop drips and deluge!
Rivulets beget reapers that rush right in!
Washed-out footing and refuge
were all wiped clean as the thunder’s din grew thin.
One day
seeps into the last week.
Two months
resume the sere refrain.
Blossoms open everywhere
bunches blooming yellow, white, and green as one.
And in that small crater there,
do the garlands glimmer brighter in the sun?
Explanation / Notes
- This is a true story.
- I don’t know what killed the dog. It was probably a car or another dog. The strays seem to form packs, but their members don’t always stay the same. There are also coyotes.
- It was hot even when it was raining. It was so hot that I couldn’t even stick to a consistent tense while remembering and writing it.
About
The author is a person of color who has been racialized as an African American.
