Concession

They got to me
while you were gone,
picked at my limbs
as if I’d become carrion.
Scavengers and crawlers came
from sky and rock,
crept across desert
to my fatigued body.
They tugged on me,
while I whimpered,
sweating out what was left
of thirst,
waiting for the stars
to rain down,
waiting with my beacon
of fading light,
waiting for a witness
to my admission
that no one was coming
and the varmints were mine
to grapple.

All Rights Reserved: Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson