Not Even Cacti Grow Here

By Debi McKee

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All I’ve learned and been told is to work your hardest, never fold

You’ll reap in profits, the world’s riches in diamonds and gold

All you have to do is try until you succeed

Well, I’ve been trying until my hands bleed

This barren earth is where I planted my seeds

As I look up, I see this world of mine is all dusty plains

When damp green grasslands are what I need

Pray the dreary yellow sky turns viridescent blue when it rains

Will it rain?

Any moisture in this dry air is what it stole from me

For miles there’s nothing to see

Not even a hint of any vapor, any humidity

The tenor of the air is same

My parched mouth can’t even speak my own name

Duststorms swarm and warn of an even worse drought

But if they really speak to me is something I doubt

The only scenery change is a desert of solar blight

Shimmering white under the blaring sunlight

I can feel water evaporating from my veins

I can hear the sand whispering stories through millions of grains

I can give up, fall and lay on the Earth and thank it,

Since if I relent it shall kindly envelop me in a blanket

But I will hold onto these seeds, if I must I’ll water them with tears

I won’t let them dry up and merge with the homogenous dirt

I’m running and kicking up clouds of it, since I know

I’m running out of time

Why did I delude myself into thinking this world was mine

And I’m holding the seeds in my calloused hands while my body is burning

On the horizon I see the hands of a giant invisible clock keep turning

My pores have nearly no more sweat,

At least the scorching sun is starting to set

These seeds are what I live for, why I take each step slow

I choke and cough from dust in the winds that blow

I need water, I can feel them start to harden

I clutch them, living on the hope of growing a beautiful garden