Buried Memories of Drought,By Louise Annarino,3-9-2013
The fly rests on a stone chip
laid bare by melting snow
creating easements
of rivulets channeled
into multiple streams
by snowdrops scattered
across the garden bed,
dropped petals
become holding ponds
for the streams’ runoff.
Each giant step I take
across the border
of miniature boulders
leaves behind bare lakes
which soon
will fill
with the mist of
early morning fog,
a final snow melt,
and spring rains.
There is no lack of water now,
no need for hoses,
water buckets,
sprinklers nor rain barrels
to bring life to my garden.
Melons and berries
and squash yet hold
faith in my planting
against the buried memory
of last year’s drought.
annarino writes 