I still go regularly to the challenge of the Stormy Monday blog at Flexwriter’s Cafe (see title poem). This piece was written as a response to the current challenge, and includes all of the images as they appeared within the challenge. All of those images, can be seen on a sidebar page with this title, located just to the left of this post.
Her dry mouth stretched wide,
like a baby bird seeking
even one drop of sustenance.
One drop in a sea of ghosts
and shadows that dance behind
eyes blind to all but imaginary bars
built to protect, yet she burns
with thirst, wild in primitive
yearning, until mind is nothing
but flame and smoke set afloat
on river golden red with sunset’s fire.
On knees, she digs in concrete
world, searching for fertile
soil, but finds only dried
cracked paint in a desert
where lightening strikes cactus,
and yawning jaws forever scream
from bones bleached white,
like her hope of quenched thirst
that will never know the freedom
of flight, satisfied.
Elizabeth Crawford 2/16/09