Jennylc
05-14-2007, 08:16 PM
She dwelt in a living nightmare.
It was hot and her toes were cut
from the walk to water.
A vulture circled, her only companion;
the feather-light baby in her arms
had gone to sleep again, for how long this time
she couldn’t tell – it was getting harder to know the difference between sleep and death...
She blamed the sky for robbing them of clouds.
It was all about the drought she told herself,
the drought and that terrible man who ran the country.
He could give them water, but he didn’t.
It was rumored he had taps.
He needed only to walk a few paces, turn on the tap and water would flow freely, as much as he liked whenever he wanted it.
He even let it run while he bathed himself.
They’d heard it was clear like the skies and he never got sick from drinking it.
Oh, how she would hate him if she had the strength
but she only had strength to walk.
Her feet were bleeding again.
They occasionally did that when a small
stone dislodged the congealed dirt
embedded in the cuts, but she couldn’t feel pain anymore.
She was driven only by the need for water, although so very tired she ceased to count the landmarks.
The sun continued it dance across the sky as she passed yet another perished soul, now only a lump of garment on the ground.
It was impossible to tell if it was male or female.
She looked up and thought she saw the vulture smile.
She told herself if she got there this time everything would be alright.
Her baby would survive, people would help, they would eat and sleep and wake to sound of rain. They would lie on the ground and let the heavens quench their thirst, over and over.
That was the dream within her nightmare.
Her only hope, a mirage.
Jenny Campbell ©
It was hot and her toes were cut
from the walk to water.
A vulture circled, her only companion;
the feather-light baby in her arms
had gone to sleep again, for how long this time
she couldn’t tell – it was getting harder to know the difference between sleep and death...
She blamed the sky for robbing them of clouds.
It was all about the drought she told herself,
the drought and that terrible man who ran the country.
He could give them water, but he didn’t.
It was rumored he had taps.
He needed only to walk a few paces, turn on the tap and water would flow freely, as much as he liked whenever he wanted it.
He even let it run while he bathed himself.
They’d heard it was clear like the skies and he never got sick from drinking it.
Oh, how she would hate him if she had the strength
but she only had strength to walk.
Her feet were bleeding again.
They occasionally did that when a small
stone dislodged the congealed dirt
embedded in the cuts, but she couldn’t feel pain anymore.
She was driven only by the need for water, although so very tired she ceased to count the landmarks.
The sun continued it dance across the sky as she passed yet another perished soul, now only a lump of garment on the ground.
It was impossible to tell if it was male or female.
She looked up and thought she saw the vulture smile.
She told herself if she got there this time everything would be alright.
Her baby would survive, people would help, they would eat and sleep and wake to sound of rain. They would lie on the ground and let the heavens quench their thirst, over and over.
That was the dream within her nightmare.
Her only hope, a mirage.
Jenny Campbell ©