Cracked Mud is Ugly

Riley Atienza ’29

4 Feburary 2026

My hands look like cracked mud

Because when mud dries it doesn’t sit nicely,

It breaks ugly

If you listen to the overbearing clouds

And you don’t use your hands to play in the mud

You say that mud still dries in an ugly way after the rain

But I know the truth

Mud dries rhythmically

Or maybe beautifully?

Ugly.

God, I hate cracked mud

I know that it’s intentional

Each crack is drawn out

Each complements the next

In its own ugly way

Yesterday I looked close enough

At the dried mud

And how it was cracked

I used my palm to trace the ugly lines

To smear them

Resembling the cracks on my hands

The dorsum of the hand

Not even the rough.

When my hands uncovered the cracks,

They were smeared

Slightly and briefly

Perspiring palms attempting to bind the lines shut

To make them smooth and whole

It didn’t work though

You could still see the lines

The ugly lines

So I left,

And the sun set,

Letting the clouds rain.

I came back the next day

My dry hands were covered

Layers and layers of lotion that my mom demanded

I wanted to be there to see the ugly cracks disappear

And for the mud to dry smoothly

But when the sunlight took over the clouds again

The clouds gave up on the rain

I looked at the mud

Hoping for signs to tell me my efforts

Of lathering and layering have not gone to waste

The mud that the sun traced

The mud that the clouds took control of

The mud that sat through the layers and layers of

Rain.

So when tears trailed from my eyes

And I wiped off the lotion,

The damn mud looked the same as yesterday

With its ugly and perfect cracks.