Vulture Magazine The Michaelmas Issue 2013 | Page 15

Quenched
Monsanto described the sad sweetness of trees
but you could say the same about the cacti,
dotting the endless stretches of open road
with long limbs and green faces.
(it's their land;
i'm only visiting.)
inviting stares and oohs&aahs until they
merge, sublimely, with the scenery
outside your window so's you can
tell no longer
where one begins and another ends.
spindly skin stops the adventurous ones
who reach out,
but don't touch,
for fear of a sharp stab in the palm,
an arrow in the heart of their
devil-may-care-ness.
I want to know the secrets of the flora
way out west,
sync with their rhythm,
the endless dotting.
forget
where one part of me begins and
another ends.
as the cacti retain water and live for months without
thirst,
i want to lap up life like summer rain,
and live for centuries,
completely sated by my past;
in other words,
quenched.

olivia Aylmer