weak, or so thought
and felt
when knees wobbled hard and i barely made it through the door
if anyone was outside at that moment
how guttural that shriek must have been
when the heat, or her heart, or somewhere between the two
got to her
now we have seven

but with that jarring afternoon, that for a second sent the summer into a dark slide- death
of course now balanced by life
a more fertile desert than i’ve ever seen

the unknown bush gave us warning signs, should we see them
and then- the sky’s opened up everyday since
and amidst a gushing wash, overflowing basins and downed fences
everything we thought was gone could not be more alive
and this one night in particular, when the rain was extra kind
drops clung to tiny palo verde pods and branches
we needed to remember–
for perhaps another kind of story come nine months, this spring