Photo©Angelo DeSantis


Air hangs heavy, fruit-luscious,

Dripping golden heat on parched grass.

A brittle breeze stirs crisped leaves,

Crick crack as twigs snap in forgotten flowerbeds.

Air hangs heavy as syrup,

Sweat-trickling and irritable.
Kick the dust,

Watch it settle,

Wish for autumn.

Perhaps if the wind were to rise,

And the dry sedge sing a different song,

And the weary hibiscus, left flowering alone, give up the ghost,

Perhaps if the air cleared and the rain fell

To wash the syrup from my eyes,

Perhaps I could open my hands,

Let go the crushed petals of fallen roses

And say, it’s over,

Breathe deeply the clean salt-tangy breeze from the sea,

And peer through the drifts of crick crackling dead things

To the spring beyond.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

7 thoughts on “Dust”

  1. What a sensory poem! I could feel the heat-heavy and fruit–luscious (love that), as well as the rest.
    We finally got some lovely weather here, although I think we’re back to the heat tomorrow.

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