Pearls

I haven’t been able to cry in weeks.

My best friend back home says it’s hot and it always looks like thunderstorms and yet the Illinois sky refuses to bleed rain.

I called my father and doodled some wildflowers. Delicate little petals upon stems I can smell, sage-like from the hides of the earth’s husk.

If it rains again this afternoon, perhaps I can relieve these pearls from behind my irises.