A Poem from Janet Cannon's
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our drought
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in the back field our
sunflowers droop like
they're being pulled to
the ground magnetically
by a witch who promises
to quench thirsty blossoms
with a magic drink back
to life beside the house
our morning glories have
lost their joy shriveled
quietly on the trellis
abandoned by the life
they used to demand
respect and homage for
their gift to our grateful
eyes down the road
gawking that huge willow
tree we always watched
dancing duets with moist
summer breezes now she
is left alone and to herself
standing still looking chapped
and graceless bullied by
her former friend the rain
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Poem by Janet Cannon
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Previously published in
Pinyon
(Colorado Mesa University, Grand Junction, CO)
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