When you said you were thirsty,
I cupped the entire Pacific in my palms,
offered it to your lips -
a valley of dying geraniums blessed by brine, resurrected in a sip.
When I almost died of drought that sizzling afternoon,
you filled a coffee cup with tap water,
curled my fingers into this gift -
a sprinkle into a wilting sunflower garden, denied of spring.
YOU ARE READING
Fools
PoetryWords by Fransivan MacKenzie Illustrations by Cali Isobel "FOOLS" is a small collection of poetry accompanied by illustrations that reek of love in its rawest nature, therefore defying all kinds of logic. All sixteen poems (excluding the tiny ones o...
