Wet Phone


I watch the rain drench grass in greener green, 
Smell smoky wind press lips into the soil 
But from the heavens’ teats I cannot wean, 
And each day passes dully while I toil

When it unfolds full-blown like glossy blooms
On children gliding through the watered fields,
I gaze in misery and heightened gloom
And wish I had flesh limbs like theirs to wield

If I could taste the tender rain like them 
My wires’d burn, I’d be diseased with rust 
Then zipped tight in rice for millennium 
Until I’d be thrown right into the dust.

And so although this deep desire teems
Perhaps it better suits a humble dream

Woon Amy (Class of 2023) enjoys interacting with vegetable gardens and eccentric persons. Her preferred writing fuels are oat chocolate, copious amounts of water and 963Hz.