it has been a long time: perhaps
i was waiting for that
one moment when the dust would fly so high,
so hard, blurring my vision,
clinging to my skin in a silky film
like sawdust and talc.
dust storm rising with the terror
of the nebraskan frontier.
this, the forgotton plague,
the eighth plague missing from exodus,
my plague: shoving dust from my body,
lifting specks from beneath my eyes
or scraping it all away while my tears
seem only to make mud on my cheeks.
this is the only way to freedom,
to rise from the ashes
a phoenix, ready to soar.
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