Nor Rain Ever Fell 

                                                Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather…
                                              ~"Scarborough Fair,” Traditional

Too soft for threshing,
too expensive to keep.
Wheat’s a fantasy.
Seeds are cheap.
 
Nothing comes together,
nothing that stays.
An eye of cobalt
can’t hold this haze.
 
Pepper spreads
without taking root.
Pepper stings
without bearing fruit.
 
This scrap of land
is sandy and narrow:
a woman might dig here
but not leave a furrow.
 
Hold the cambric shirt
close to your chest.
Draw from the dry well
for all the rest.                                                                                                                                                                

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Meg Yardley lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in publications including SWWIM, Bodega Magazine, Cagibi, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, and the Women’s Review of Books.

Art: Miquel Pujol / Creative Commons