Missing The Rain
There are no flowers This spring. The desert rains have yet to bloom Leaving last season’s corpses Blowing in the brown dust And choking ashes. The relentless sun And blinding blue Scream into my eyes — The land hopes my tears Will quench its eternal thirst, But they dry before falling. I wonder if the Hohokom, Sobaipuri and Akimel O’odham Bloomed vivid in vernal rains, Before their flowers were ripped up and trampled — Paved over by white climate change.
I wrote this poem today after walking my dogs. It occurred to me how long it has been since we had rain here in the desert valley of Arizona — which has been about 170 days. Usually we would have had some by now and the wildflowers would start blanketing the ground in a burst of yellow, orange, and purple.
Further, I wanted to honor the indigenous people who were on this land before they were forced off by white people and our greedy government — before it turned into an RV park full of wheeled homes flying Trump flags and touting MAGA-isms.
So we continue waiting for the rain to wash away the dust and bloom some color into this sad state of affairs.
Thanks to V. Walker | Poet for helping refine this one a little.
As always, thank you for reading.
This really resonated with me—not just the stark imagery of a desert longing for rain but also the way you tied it to the people who knew and cared for this land long before it was exploited. The way you honor the Hohokam, Sobaipuri, and Akimel O’odham in this piece is so important. It’s devastating how colonization and climate change are woven together. They both stripped the land of its vitality and erased the people who once thrived in it. Thank you for writing and sharing this ❤️
Incredible imagery and such a haunting but important message.