A Little Relief

The sky this morning
won’t give up
its rain.
The trees stand perfectly still, leaves up,
praying for it. The flowers
bow down in the grayness
while birds
do what birds always do.

The air feels wet
as if the molecules could
spontaneously burst into droplets.

We’ve let the asparagus
grow wild, a good two feet
over the fence now.
My tomato plants have wilted,
despite my steady watering.
Only the fuschia, secure
in the shade, continues to bloom,
its red cherry flowers popping
like parachutes.

In a few weeks, God willing,
I’ll celebrate my first full year
into the second half of a century
on this burning planet.
I’m trying to do my part, sitting
under the tree, apples dropping around me,
praying, like the rest of the world,
for a little relief,
some rain, a breeze, a sweet kiss on my neck,

some light leading us
toward another chance.