by Cynthia Pitman

The sky is tilting.
She leans to the side.
too weak to withstand the clouds
rolling in from the east,
engorged with rain.
Soon they will burst
and pelt the dry ground with rain,
water long needed,
stabbing its cracked skin until it cries,
surrenders, and opens its pores
to the sharp jabs, soaking in life.
This pain will be the sky’s salvation
as His was mine.

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Cynthia Pitman, author of The White Room, Blood Orange, and Breathe (Aldrich Press, Kelsay Books), has been published in Amethyst Review, Ekphrastic Review, Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem finalist), Saw Palm (Pushcart Prize nominee) and others, and in Vita Brevis anthologies Pain and Renewal, Brought to Sight & Swept Away, What is All This Sweet Work? and Nothing Divine Dies.