It should be sodden: Rain-beaten leaves float in the puddles, furtive umbrellas cross the Peace Plaza— Trap the rain’s tap-tap tattoo under sound studios of taut tenting that smell of wet wool cuffs— Cold fingers wrap the plastic grips and thumb the toggle that erects and folds the jointed-metal ribs. Dry bones. I can’t yet taste drought in a mouthful of sun.
First published in Residual Heat under my pseudonym Aga Black. I wrote this poem in response to the California drought of 2011-2017. When I wrote it in 2014, the drought was only halfway through.anthropocene poetry residual-heat