Yesterday, I won 1st prize in the Nambucca Valley Writer’s Group Poetry competition In case you don’t fully comprehend the magnitude of this wondrous event, this is the first writing competition I have ever won…and the first trophy
I wrote this poem at the beginning of the year in a time of drought. My partner and I had separated, and I felt my own parched barrenness mirrored the landscape.
This is my poem:
She was parched
Like a fertile land in drought.
Her rivers had run dry
Her wells had emptied.
Grass crisped beneath her feet.
In her dreams sometimes
A cool, moist breeze would blow
Fine misted droplets across her face
As she lay cushioned on soft grass.
A longing, evaporated in the heat of the day.
A familiar stranger appeared out of the blue.
She felt different around him; charged.
In her mind she called him the Rainmaker;
Great clouds, flashing and thundering
Roiled in his wake: electricity.
But she had been too dry for too long
And his rain slid off her skin,
Running down her body in dusty trails
Forming pools of muddy water at her feet
And evaporating in trails of steam.
Heat crackled about her
Like dry lightning in a bushfire…
Yet it seemed to only stoke his longing.
The current between them pushed and pulled:
He needed her fire like she needed the rain.
He knew of a secret place where the Earth
Kept her green things and her water;
A space of cool, cool beauty –
The sacred water-hole which never ran dry.
She sank beneath the silken water, deep and clear.
Sinking, something broke open inside of her;
A sluice gate of emotion opened
And broke her apart, water
Flowing into her like love.
And she sighed in its silken caress.
Her skin became silky
Her hair became smooth
She felt lush and juicy
Like a freshly drenched forest…
Or a woman re-claimed.
– Sara Foley