Mercies of the Dust

by Lori Hershberger

The ash has settled thick upon the fields;
The latest harvest’s charred and parched remains
Lie witness to the season’s bygone yields,
The dormant thirsting for the summer rains.
Though day has faded into waiting day,
And still the dust comes cloaking barren lands,
The rain will come, a raining soft and fey,
Come damp and sweet with tiny healing hands.
Will rain that comes to touch this valley’s seed
Touch mine at all, this restless sorrow’s pain
Whose speech lies dead in dry and shifting need?
Can fallow skies give birth to such a rain?

Should no rain fall, I pray for grace to trust;
How stern and harsh, these mercies of the dust.

Lori Hershberger lives in Mae Hong Son Province, Thailand, where she teaches EFL and dreams of traveling across the Salawin River into Burma. You can find her book, Dustbeams, on Amazon.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy