I went to the desert in springtime
A rain shower hit scalded earth and I imagined sizzling
The cacti silently slurped
All the dew of the world and I was not loved.
Me: third wheel, squeaky wheel, shrieking beyond repair.
The cacti held their phallic form, swelling to absorb more, more
Offering itself to the sun, ground, emboldened beasts of the desert—
Water source and shade—their mother—
The cactus is adored by all in the desert
Her spikes enduring and cunning
Her riposte is but a whisper, a hum on the horizon.
I shrivel in.
Charity Anastasio is an old writer. Her day job is in legal but she moonlights as a poet. She has a JD from Seattle University School of law and a BA in English from the University of Washington. She has had two poems published in her alma mater's literary journal. Charity lives in Baltimore, Maryland.