Water in the Desert
23 April 2006
In my dream I was walking alone
on the road alongside the Flood Ditch,
cannabis growing wild along the banks.
And in that dream I resurrected
a memory of my great aunt
sitting on the slope, fishing pole in hand,
a can of wiggling worms propped on the ground,
and a little boy peering in.
I was scared to squeeze them, bleeding, on the hook.
You were the world to me, the Universe.
Now I face a naked world, full of why,
and I don't understand more than ever
this society you left me to live,
full of Ph.Ds who've never seen a worm
wiggling, bleeding on a hook,
or caught a blackbird in the snow in winter
because it was the only way to eat.
You could not have imagined my life here
in Massachusetts, where they burned women
as witches, but now boast Harvard and M.I.T.,
teaching undergraduates to go to Wall Street,
trying to keep a sense of perspective,
like someone without water in the desert.
having only these memories of you.
© 2006, Satya J. Gabriel