appealing

The Maynard
Spring 2018

Samantha Jones
0:00
 
 

Flash Flood

They lie down, sluggish,
stems limp, draped over the lip,
purple and yellow pansies
in a terracotta pot.

I cross the cobbled yard,
the flesh of my bare feet
fills the gaps between
the rounded stones,
the weight of me pushing
down hard enough to
bruise the skin on my soles.

I was born in the house
of the water bearer.

A green can, spout clogged
contents sloshing
out of the openings,
I make it pour—
onto leaves baked yellow,
their edges curled by
July afternoons.

Water fills the pot
faster than it can drain.
Dirt bobs to the top
and spills over the side
plunges        then meanders
in a muddy river twisting
across the wooden step—
floating flakes of mica flicker
under the three o’clock sun
before the stream carries them
over the edge and away.