A Sequence for the Dry Season
Six poems written during a summer that would not end.
Written in the driest months of the year, these poems keep circling back to the same small acts of waiting for water that never quite arrives on schedule.
The first three poems in this sequence were written in June, when the dry season still felt ordinary. The last three were written in September, when it had stopped feeling ordinary and started feeling like a fact about the future.
I did not set out to write about drought. I set out to write about waiting, and the drought supplied the waiting without my having to invent it.
Read together, the sequence does not resolve - there is no poem here where the rain finally comes. That absence is deliberate, and it is, I think, the truest thing about the season it was written in.
