Everything is Dry
MICHAEL W, IOWA
Everything is dry,
crisp, crackled, wanting for water,
a lick of dew to quench a sliver of thirst.
I made it dry.
It was wet before,
A long story I will always keep short:
I could not control the flow of tears
when I thought about her and him and her.
I let loose and did not stop
until I did.
Now I do. I do
I always do.
The tears never flow.
Sandpaper blinks. “Don’t cry.”
I won’t. I can’t.
Or I’ll never stop again.