Sunday, December 1, 2019
Even here, where memory itself is iced with dust,
Frosted with webs; even here, I am thankful for the pipes
Clean water from wherever it may have run
Underground, creeping and pressing through stone
To fall out here, surprised.
It will be exhausted when it's touched dishes,
Counters, cabinets and this floor
We will both tend toward the cooler tile
Stone enough, I guess.
If the last thing I will be grateful for,
Here, is water...
Filling the baths and the spigots,
The hoses and the plastic pools,
The sprinklers and the showers,
Then I will be clean
And I will be
Sharing this week with The Sunday Muse...maybe in honor of the holiday or in honor of no longer having water dripping like madness from the ceiling or just because. Hope this week finds everyone recharged and creative as the new year slips up, party frock ready. :)