sunburnt
sweat drips down my neck
gritty cheeks
i taste salt
a side-blotched lizard runs past
to hide in the shadows
swallowed up in the small pocket of blackness
but mostly
the sun is blinding
hot hot hot
against my cheeks
hot like my temper
we both need water
this place and i
so we don’t lose our shit and burn everything down
constantly a heat wave away from self-destruction
i give tears to the desert
an offering
the little liquid i can spare
to the desperate soil
i imagine my tears dropping into the mouth of a thirsty snake
we’d become friends
i’d walk as they slithered by my side
scouting the land
looking for something to eat
maybe we’d dance
or maybe they’d bite me
too pragmatic for friends
i’d forgive them
i howl
like a coyote
alone
with shedding fur
i wonder
when it’s gone
who will gnaw at my bones
with no sweat or tears
left to offer
—
Fern Crossway is a conservation biologist, writer, creative, and educator working with endangered butterflies in New England and the Pacific Northwest. She obtained her BS from SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry and is currently pursuing her PhD at the University of Washington. Fern’s work is centered in ecology and ecofeminism and her writing often explores the relationship between women and nature, and the parallels between the subjugation of women and environmental destruction.
