Before the flood
By Alexandra Smereka
If I am made of so much water, why don’t I evaporate under your heated gaze? Drip away until all that is left of me longs to flow into the sea? All rain is simply water finding its way home. When someday you can’t find me, scatter rose petals on the sand and say:
here lies a girl whose name was drawn in the desert, who the wind has scattered to distant shores and the tallest trees.
Do not bury me, but look for me in the rain and fallen leaves.