Parch

I was born
parched

skin shrinking
on fragile skull

an empty pan
in an electric oven

scorching air
billowing out of
a black Chevrolet
on the fourth of July

I've raised myself
as sagebrush
on dry self-denial

true to the absence
of refreshment
true to the shriveling
of tongue and womb

and the burning of skin
at noon


~MH 1998/2007