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.