If I cross the desert
inside the stomach
of a water tanker,
speak no refugee tongue
and ride only at night.
If I press my ear flat
against the trunk
of a date palm,
I can hear the sound
of underground water.
from Poetry Northwest Summer & Fall 2018 More by Tara Ballard from the library
Copyright © Tara Ballard
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.