The Lord Taketh Away, by M. Stone

Texas Tenant Farmer in California. Marysville Migrant Camp, photograph by Dorothea Lange (USA). 1935.

The Lord Taketh Away

The sun

a feral dog grown 
tired of the fight

turns tail and runs

as we survey the sere
fields at dusk. I stand

by your side, see
sweat droplets
clean as tears

adorning the hollows
below your eyes. 

With blistered
fingers you swab
your brow. I know

your skin tastes 
of iron and salt.

My tongue is useless,
flesh held between teeth.

I do not tell you 
I have ceased praying.

God himself placed 
a heavy palm upon our land.

Forty days with no rain--

that palm is now a fist. 

M. Stone

M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer who writes poetry and fiction while living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. She can be reached at writermstone.wordpress.com.