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September 18, 2023


By Peter A. Witt


Land is cracked
sky parched
men sweat but
sunburned foreheads
are dry

Flocks of clouds parade
across the valley
carrying their loads
over the mountains
to the next town

Pa puts his finger
in the air, shakes
his head in disgust,
pumps water
from the fading well
for water starved cows

At midnight, family
sleeping on the porch
hear the first pit,
followed by a pat,
another pit,
then the bang
of the barn door
blown shut
with a gust.

The deluge comes
first creating craters
in the thin top soil,
then pools,
finally rivulets
that gurgle to the creek

We dance in the yard
night clothes clinging
to our bodies
tongues tasting
the sweetness
even Ma joins in

Within days
tiny flowers will peek
from the soil
everyone will undertake
their chores
with a lighter step

Article © Peter A. Witt. All rights reserved.
Published on 2021-05-03
Image(s) are public domain.
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