Thirst Trap

Flutter among fruit-globes, as if
my flat leafed and waxy heart
                        weren’t little.

Given—the reservoir’s levels inch
            lower; a leaf blower
                        urges the trees’

            detritus off
the concrete. What is pervious
of me is also dirt.

I wrap my body
            around the planet

and laugh with the ease
of a well-hydrated woman
striding through a desert.

            Even our metals deny inertia,
their half lives dance along times’
edges. My little heart wants

water. Citrus flirts
            with any fingers
                        who will peel her.

                        Clear water
            winnows to a trickle. The bright
sun winks upon it. 

Jessica Morey-Collins received her MFA from the University of New Orleans, where she won an Academy of American Poets award, and worked as associate poetry editor for Bayou Magazine. Her poems can be found or are forthcoming in Pleiades, Prairie Schooner, Sycamore Review, and elsewhere. She currently studies hazard mitigation in the University of Oregon's Masters of Community and Regional Planning program. Find her at