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I wandered in the desert
until I found my way
to an astrologer.
She told me to seek a Virgo;
instead, I seem to have found virga.
Impressive clouds race toward me
sweeping up my senses
stoking my anticipation
until at last rain falls
toward the cracked, impatient ground.
But then it stops.
Halfway down the sky
the rain evaporates
hanging like ribbons
tauntingly close
yet still out of reach.
I tire of building walls
on which to stand
to try and quench my thirst.
I tire of wandering
with my eyes wanting an oasis
so badly that I hallucinate;
I tire of the tantalizing mirage,
lush and green yet
having neither depth nor substance.
If you want me, I will be here,
continuing to chart my path
by the positions of the stars and moon.
But I will not spend energy to scale walls
that will never reach your raindrops
regardless of how much I desire to drink.
Ryan E. Holman has published poetry in the Silver Spring/Takoma Park Voice and was featured thrice in the Third Thursday Takoma Park Reading Series. In 2016 and 2021, she won third prize in the Baltimore Science Fiction Society’s poetry contest. Ryan lives in the Washington, DC area.
Cover Design: Amanda Bergloff
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