Came across a poem I wrote ten years ago. It was the year I went back with my brothers to the Illinois farm where we grew up. We have all traveled so far since then, but some elements provide continuity — like water.
My Thoughts on Water
The pond behind the barn where I caught catfish with Grandma.
The fishpond behind her house, filled in when we were still small.
Mom so worried that one of us would drown in it.
The pump in the yard. Cool water from deep in the earth.
Our farm never was without water, even in the driest summers.
A river ran under our farm, Grandpa said.
I couldn’t picture that. A river underground?
I knew the Embarras, the Wabash, the Mississippi.
Then later the Atlantic Ocean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the fountains on the terraces in Haifa with the water lap lapping down the side of Mount Carmel.
Mist on my face on a rainy day.
The waters of my life.