The Summer the Well Went Dry
1. Situation
The well is dry, to pump only dry silt
of fine small grains that blow away in breeze
In time the wind will blow it South with ease.
The tender leaves of vine begin to wilt.
As far as one can see the world looks dry,
so crisp and brown it crumbles to the touch,
a few are brave and hold the green, not much
to look at, thirst that waits for evening’s cry.
The old majestic trees still stand and hold
communion with the sky that keeps it blue
above the brown and weakened soil, this land
has gone away with thirst, dry stories told.
So parched each stalk of weed and flower too,
the ground has given way to desert sand.
2. Aftermath
To leave her there in the crumbling ruin,
my squash among the other garden plants,
who have given way to wasps and black ants,
some ornate broken pots my herbs grew in.
A foreign land of burnt aromatics
no longer bless the alter with their smells
as Raven pick their way through dead snail shells
without a soul to share these small antics.
It’s wrong to say that I don’t really care.
I care deeply for this destroyed lot.
I feel the sun has taken all it can
as if this death has made me more aware.
I wonder if I’ve given all I’ve got
or am I wrapped up in this dried out plan.
3. Survival
If I could throw the kids into the truck
to leave before our lips are way too parched
avoid the pain of Earth as it is torched
to try our hand alone with lady luck.
But we are dry just like each blade of grass.
We’re rooted deep below the silted grounds
while songbirds orchestrate their quiet sounds.
No one can leave, we are not granted pass
to come to terms with unbearable heat.
To ask the trees if we can use their shade
or drops of resin from their solid bark.
To find a way to keep us on our feet,
our lives become the lives our hands have made,
avoid the light and find a place thats dark.
- On One Terrible Night: The Family Well - November 8, 2024
- A Peaceful Place to Slumber - November 8, 2024
- Soft Shock of Apples Falling - April 22, 2024
Excellent feel to this piece Jamie, the land speaks it’s dry truth, in the only tongue it can through all living things. How we acclimate, or flee, like so many did long ago to survive the extremes of nature. I couldn’t help but reflect on climate change while reading this. So many potent lines here. Loved it!
Best
Mel
I love this, Jamie. Your good phrasing makes the poem flow nicely. Well done.
Great job Jamie, the power of nature’s transformations. Here were flooding in rains and chilled winter morns. Nicely penned and phrased my friend.
Nice work Jamie. Nature can be an evil wretch. In the Northeast US we are getting killed with rain in the middle of June. Its supposed to be 80 and sunny not torrential downpours. But I would bet that the area you speak of would be more than happy for a few days of rain. Good Job here.