by Kristina Baer
In the middle of the night,
struck by a hit-and-run driver,
the fire hydrant releases
a geyser of water into the trees,
into the gutter, down the hill,
into the storm drains,
thirsty these many summer months
for the winter rains,
late this year.
Barefoot in the stream’s
push-pull around my ankles,
I want to strip,
to stretch out
in its free-fall,
free-run to the bay.
A neighbor, getting into his car,
calls out to me, “It’s only water!”
Our only water, I whisper.
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
Oh, Kristina… you do know how to get our attention… with a whisper. Whether “the Poet” whispers of fields unsown or names not yet known or the water flow, we listen more closely and my ear is cocked.
Amicus,
Neal
Subtile combination of structure and freedom ! I feel like the water, I feel the water on my skin as my eyes follow the lines.
Thank you.
Geraldine
Thank you Neal and Geraldine. The water spilling down the hill, through the poem, gave me so much guilty pleasure: joy in the sound and sensation of it, regret in the wanton loss.
Kristina -
Spoken as a true Californian should speak. Wonderful. True. Chilling. Beautiful. —Kay
Just read through your piece for the third time. Excellent imagery and message in these “drying times”. It’s a keeper. Thanks!
Thank you, Alan! Just back from a morning walk along the Carmel River–oh my! It is in spate, a rarity now, with the pussy willows, eucalypts, buckeyes gunning their engines. And the anglers, angling. Our rain, our blessing.
I couldn’t help but read some eroticism in this poem (is it me? – not you?). I liked it. Can’t wait to read more of your poetry.
Vermont is where you find it, yes? My earliest memories of being-in-water find me lying flat in the “crick” below my grandmother’s house on a hot August day. Cold does not begin to describe the water temperature. The water bugs don’t mind; nor do I. At 6, all I care about is what I see and feel, then and there. And that sensation of water running free–erotic, sure–is a defining moment. Bach, Beethoven, Schubert, too. Thanks, Patrick.
Oh Kristina,
The more I read it, the more meaningful it becomes!
What a short but great poem!
Dave Tepel
From Plainfield, NJ
tepeld@gmail.com