WATERMARK

     

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Which face shall I wear today? The old woman

gazing into her garden, mourning a lost

childhood? The young woman at the mirror

preparing to greet a new love? The child

climbing trees in her school clothes, white

socks and maryjanes?

 

Heat falls from the sky, seeps up through

cracked ground. Everything living goes limp,

bows down, suffers. We all suffer. We choose

it, welcome it, open to it like fields open

to rain. More, more; then enough, enough;

then too much, too much.

 

Today I shall wear the infant’s face, the open

face, the one that has not learned to close.

It takes it all in, drought, flood, the blossoming

for bees.