The Little Cherry Tree
By Madison Mau
A cherry tree was planted in the desert
It is small, withered,
Starving for water
Its life bears no fruit
And the flood begins
But does not quench the apparition
Which floats somewhere between
Reality and self-rendered fiction
The emptiness of the landscape
Is burdensome with remorse
For a cloud bereft of water is not a savior
The desert is not made of sand
But a void of doubt and uncertainty
the air is thick with the humidity it craves,
Yet it gets none of its pleasures.
The day drags on until a year passes
With no change in its situation.
A single bird flies above,
Followed by a whole flock.
The chirp constantly,
their voices weaving songs together harmoniously
And each sound draws blood,
Trapped in a barbed wire thornbush,
Tirelessly clawing at its raw, naked flesh
And if only a sprinkle of water might fall,
The long day may end.
Yet the misfortune perpetuates,
And the meager harvest dies
And there is nothing remaining
But an empty, withered
Little cherry tree.