Poetry | Anna Quartly

Righteous Rain

At last, the earth’s thirst
sucked and sunk; globed and weighted
water had bombed here – fed dry roots,
roasted leaves and staunch fumes of honeycomb ashes.
Where were nimble-bleating lambs
and pork-bellied grunts?

At home,
I’d stuff bagfuls of hard
kernels, ripe to the seed,
waiting for the shakes and hits
of nested squirrels. Only,
nature was like a cavern
of rasped tongues.

Then one summer’s morning,
belled clouds spat
their first spits
of water. With ticking time,
the spits became drips,
then fat globs pulsed
through the cracked earth.
onto the soup;
water, like eggs of life,
revives the stock-still.

Anna Quartly is sixteen years old and home-educated. Her poetry has previously been published in Iceberg Tales and Wotton Times Newspaper. Anna is also writing an autobiography and performs at a local poetry event, Re-verse.

Twitter: @AnnaQuartly

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