by Megan Huwa
HOW TO PRAY DURING A DROUGHT
Plow prayer in your worn lambskin journal.
Seed sighs in meter, so margin and time
hold their equilibrium as kernel
for an eventide of barren rhyme.
Emerge from the desert, locusts, and wild
honey: Lay hope before the sun, imbibe
oxygen, and behold peculiar eyes.
Sing belief’s lilting lines and tear-dropped dye:
Shalom will shoot a filament taproot
in royal soil double-crossed by hell,
but double-blessed by Genesis’ poet,
piercing the heart wall for a deeper well.
Hush, hush, wait until the taproot settles.
Let praise arise anew as hope petals.
MEGAN HUWA
Megan Huwa is a writer, poet, and author of Still Life: Poetic Vignettes (Wipf & Stock, 2025), who lives with her husband near her family’s fifth-generation Colorado farm. Because she lives with a rare health condition, her writing reaches for home—both temporal and eternal—and melds rural life, land, stillness and witness, and empathy through varied voices.
Her work has appeared in Thimble, Vita Poetica, Ekstasis (now Inkwell), The Way Back to Ourselves, The Clayjar Review, Solum Literary Press, Calla Press, and elsewhere. She has been featured on The Habit Podcast and The Poetry Corner.
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