Watering Places

Here are your waters and your watering place

Drink and be whole again beyond confusion
-Directive

I.

“Go on, sure… see if the old tin cup’s still there—“

Awaiting no further permission, we cousins dash down the path,

balance across the beam of the concrete holding back the little reservoir,

bend uphill and race to the river (a stream really),

scamper across moss-slick stones

to the thin locust, wrinkled so prematurely it was-- is-- ageless.

The tree hid our treasure- the tin cup

I imagined to be like Benny’s of the Boxcar Children

tied by a string to the limb by our late grandmother

within reach of the continuously refreshed pools

free of collected pollen or building muck

water clear through to stones and only a few leaves.

Here, we were allowed to drink from the ground

Here, we knew the source of the stream

Here, my father had ‘always drunk this water without a problem’

so we would too.

And always, it was delicious.

So sweet, so cold

I’d feel I should ask for forgiveness.

II.

“Grab the other empty glass jars.  Let’s go—“

(Alone in 7-mile cabin in the middle of the woods,

even after working outdoors all day, sometimes

one of the other of us would have the urge to get outside again

for a different physical contact than setting up poles or nets or watching the sun rise.

I might lie on a log across the stream, he would often stride up the hillside

and on this night, the cloudless moon beckoned, and he remembered

the spring he had seen

on the topo map. )

He set off with glass jars and no flashlight, not checking to see if I was behind him

And I strode quickly through the already-wet tall grass to catch up

We hopped across the stream, then scrambled up to the dirt road

Our shoes suddenly harsh on the gravel

I followed his sometimes-veering, sometimes pausing, direction,

sensed without a dowsing rod but with memory of maps

until he bent over a puddle in the grass

Not a bubble, but a seep, still—

The water was clear with a film of mud at the bottom and grass thick along the side

Without pause, he lay on his belly and put his face in the pool. Lapped up the water.

I didn’t want to get all wet.  But then, I couldn’t resist

stretching along the damp grass to douse my face in that pool

and drink.

III.

“Oh!  Look up!  There are stars- up above”

the clouds have cleared

so I can see the trail to guide my friends

the ones who urge me always to look up, look out, and see

I lead them to the river

tell tales of tin cups

and drinking from the ground 

Now the cup lost its hold on the string

and a sturdy log bridge crosses the stream

but the water still pools

between moss covered rocks

and my friend dips her tin bottle

and drinks – delicious

we smile knowingly

straight from the source

(Note: Ok, this was rushed at the end since the silly buzzer was sounding.  I need to go back to it- but ideas for the end would be particularly useful!)