By Emily Strauss
A weeping prophet placed a small stone in his mouth against thirst, a desert of darkness emerged from it a dark desert emerged from his parched mouth its contours vague, dreamlike, lacking significance a blue world vague, dreamlike, lacking significance where footprints and all sense of identity disappear I lost all sense of identity there, lacking significance I once wrote “The End” endlessly, a futile circle I wrote “The End” without end, and it became my lamentation, a cautionary harangue on lack of rain such a lamentation, a cautionary tale of drought's pain reflected the color of this habitable world the blue color of habitable worlds seen in the small stone the weeping prophet placed in his mouth.
Emily Strauss has an M.A. in English, but is self-taught in poetry, which she has written since college. Over 500 of her poems appear in a wide variety of online venues and in anthologies, in the U.S. and abroad. She is a Best of the Net and twice a Pushcart nominee. She is interested in the American West and the narratives of people and places around her. She is a retired teacher living in Oregon.