“Drop”

Howling and reluctant,

I tumbled

from a tired woman

into the world—

like a bead of blood

into a water jar—

and dissipated.

 

Love and art

whisk the liquid—

I nearly congeal

but never return to

a pure drop.

 

Was deep, hot red,

then thin, cool pink,

translucent,

all the while,

evaporating.

 

—Bernadette Malavarca