The Water is Gone

The water is gone.
I tried to pool some into a cup, but
it is not there to be cupped.

I walk the forest
with last year’s stream in my mind
but the creek bed is dry.

Now I am upstream
and each turn is a lesson as to how
all sounds are echoes

coming through the hills
from somewhere further afield.
I think of walking on

although today
the further into woods I might walk
the further it seems to be.


The Daughter

I made mine just the same as you made yours
and mine turned out the same as yours did

I began making mine before I knew better
when what I wanted was what you wanted

In the end I threw away so many of the
obsolete arts and crafts you taught me

I start again when I am many years older
many years behind me and perhaps lost

This time I make mine in the shape of myself
calling it some new kind of womanhood

someone balancing on new feet, I stand
and start again, it is late but not too late