~ard±ng 

ther men because my dad wasn't around 
·as his responsibility to take care of us. 
:ctricity was shut off again and our small 
np. The pot-bellied stove crackled with 
n and out as the ancient house breathed. 
tat we would have to do. My youngest 
~d something about being quiet. She sat 
s one of our favorite meals. My brother 
e squirmed. She demonstrated what we 
<J hungry. She gave us a hard look and 
1 each spoonful, we carefully examined 
or air pushing their brown heads above 
l out the baby moths. They squirmed for 
ing completely still. They were dying. I 
em all. Cursing her eyesight, she began 
id they would not kill her. She said they 

R:wan Gruenewald 

Our Drought 

He keeps his face 
sharp and clean. He keeps 

the barrows full of rain. He keeps 
the knives so dull so Mother won't 

cut her hands. A screw 
snaps in a pine stud. A wall of jars 

slides to the floor. A glass 
breaks in the dishwater. If the rain 

turns to snow tonight we'll 
know without waking. If the truck floor 

floods again I'll lift my feet. If this is 
a lesson I'll do as I'm told I'll never 

walk again the road barefoot. 
I'll never snuff a candle 

with my thumb. My secret? 
I pick it till it bleeds. Another one? 

I like eggs with red 
in the yellow and at night I 

dance in his shoes shined fresh 
still smelling of the black. 

II