The Flask

It was two days ago
When I left my car.
The last I saw of it
Smoke was spewing
From the bonnet.

It was two hours ago
When I drank the last drop
Of water
From my flask,
The desert sprawling
In front of me.

I would cry
But I would lose water
And already my steps
Have grown shorter
And slower.

Then my steps
Ceased
And I dropped
To the unyielding earth
Only being able to sit up.

I watched as the sun
Crept to the horizon
Then melt into the
Desert floor.
The cool night air
Cooling my sun burned skin.

I heard an animal howl.
Something slithered
Pass my leg.
Then Sean appeared.
My husband sat next to me.

We watched the night sky,
His arm around my shoulder.
We spoke about the kids,
About work,
About the economy,
About life and death.

I fell asleep to the
Buzzing of his voice,
His scent wafting into
The desert air,
His fingers tracing the tattoo
On my arm.

I awoke
To the early sun
Rising inch by inch.
Sean was gone
Unlike the moon
Who still sat in the sky.

It was just me,
The desert
And the empty flask.

I reached for it,
Hoping for at least
A drop or two
That may have congregated
Overnight.

The once light flask
Felt heavy in my hand.
The once empty flask
Was full when I opened it.
Water never tasted so good.

I journeyed two more days.
On the third day
I found an old house
In which an elderly couple resided.
They called for help
And soon I was at the hospital.
Soon I was home.

I didn't tell anyone
About Sean
Or the empty flask.
Instead I went to his grave
And sat for a while.

I thanked him
In whispers
That I knew he would hear.

He may be gone
But he will always
Be my husband.
I love you, Sean.