Poem with No Water at All

Kayleb Rae Candrilli

You don't even have to look to know this world smells of lava

and the ways in which we've burnt it. The argument against heat

is a scarecrow smoldering from the inside out. The fields

are locust wing–dry and there is little hope if you are listening

carefully to the wind. Most mornings, the day opens its mouth

to spit dust and half-hearted salutations. I do not blame the earth

for its general fatigue but rather embrace the lukewarm

air we walk through. I understand the cough that comes

after finishing a carton. The saddest thing about humans

and the earth is sometimes we smoke

                               when we don't want to.

                               Sometimes we let it all in.