The Smell of Water

Abigail rising, my mum, her party, almost 
one acre to put the dog out to pasture, 
cows so close in the mornings,
my dropped ts slowly returning with every tsk

Trees that rarely fell, so thick with tree
we would level with the rooftop with
no real sense that we were even
up there.

Cows in the mornings, cows receding
up the hill, cows giving birth on 
the horizon, cows watching cows in
labour all day.

Where does the water taste, where?
Did its metals fortify me when I moved
to town? I knew remoteness once
and the night demon that shifts
my hips in clubs is just that,
wants me to know what it is
to need water, to taste water.

Packed spaces remind me how jarring 
they are as is the sulphurous solitude
pouring forth from the country tap.


2 comments:

  1. my dropped ts slowly returning with every tsk!!

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  2. sulphourous tap life is real!
    and i love the labouring cows bearing witness for each other

    ReplyDelete