Theories of Water
1 Minute Read Time

In the right light my mind recalls its own wildness cascading into fresh view.
The wildness of damp East German rain, slugs big as fingers clinging to
the street.
In the Rorschachs of mold blooming across my curtains in Japan.
In the country stream piloting its own froth
down the mountains and out to sea.
In the pond I fill under the Christmas tree
and the steadiness it carries up through branches
holding onto angels and felt mittens, tassels,
painted houses framing the neighborhood of my hands.
In the morning shower listening along my body,
water gathering stories of where I’ve been in sleep.
In the memory of schoolgirls walking home under rain,
the steady wet pulling rainbows from the markers in our book bags
all down our oblivious legs. In that first-grade winter cold
when we smooshed in our snowsuits to the ball field
and skated the cool slick that surprised itself overnight across the diamond.
In how we awed there at the clean potential of snow,
a world of water dosed out in armies of little stars.
Read more from Issue 17.1.
