Missing The Rain

There are no flowers
This spring.
The desert rains have yet to bloom
Leaving last season’s corpses
Blowing in the brown dust
And choking ashes.
The relentless sun
And blinding blue
Scream into my eyes —
The land hopes my tears
Will quench its eternal thirst,
But they dry before falling.
I wonder if the Hohokom,
Sobaipuri and Akimel O’odham
Bloomed vivid in vernal rains,
Before their flowers were ripped up and trampled —
Paved over by white climate change.

I wrote this poem today after walking my dogs. It occurred to me how long it has been since we had rain here in the desert valley of Arizona — which has been about 170 days. Usually we would have had some by now and the wildflowers would start blanketing the ground in a burst of yellow, orange, and purple.

Further, I wanted to honor the indigenous people who were on this land before they were forced off by white people and our greedy government — before it turned into an RV park full of wheeled homes flying Trump flags and touting MAGA-isms.

So we continue waiting for the rain to wash away the dust and bloom some color into this sad state of affairs.

As always, thank you for reading.