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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 1, March 2015


Marge Piercy
Wellfleet, Massachusetts, USA

The grass is shredded brown paper

After a while drought terrifies. I see plants dying from the top down to the roots twisting through soil turned to soft rock. The marsh is beige. Ponds have a wide margin and some are sick from summer people's waste. Maples red and sugar and silver are coloring and dropping their leaves a month early. The birds search for water to drink. I fear for the well. I drink lukewarm water rather than let it run till it's cold.

I imagine fire, because the land is half scorched and pitch pines burn so fiercely. We watch the clouds scoot over out to sea and curse them for denying us rain. Only the insects flourish, grasshoppers everywhere and biting flies, but no mosquitoes. Like us, they need water to thrive.

Rain in the night—
how it makes love
to the trees.



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