The earth tears at her concrete visage
until she can breathe through the cracks.

Listen to the viscous vows of retaliation
she presses through her stuffed throats:

Let the water in,
she murmurs as she feels rain brushing against
her mask of stone, begging for reunion.

Let the water in,
she rumbles as she remembers the gardens
you pressed into matts of dead grass.

You refill her claw marks with asphalt,
sealing her mouths for another decade.

Listen to the water’s chants
echoing through overflowing sewers:

Let the water in,
it sings to the rhythm of rattling iron,
erupting out of the darkness.

Let the water in,
you hear the sky howl
as the water falls upon what summoned it.

© 2022 Vanessa Jae