Litkicks Message Board Archive

Submerged in Kansas

Posted to Action Poetry




A dizzying drama raced across her face

standing beside the well

dripping bucket and tight rope,

sun glistening on surface
tension

sea without salt, there in the
can

reflecting the sky

a crow for a seagull,

ocean eight hundred miles
each way.

Dress whipped by arid noon time
wind

"No end," she thought.

She heaved a sigh and pulled the bucket close.

This is our water, our life, our well,

wished upon without penny

or luck

well never mind.

She hummed momentarily

peering into the wetness,

and for just a second,

plunged.