For weeks, you deny you resent me, withdrawing, same as rain, lie holding its breath like heavy August air, you, a drought, and I something else, something like a river, slow drying, abandoned by duckling, white heron, great egret, seeking the usual sustenance from another able body, perhaps the inlet or stream, anything else but me, while I recede, evaporate, thirsting to be the storm. -Katherine Gotthardt
Posted in Writing Prompts
