shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Liz Dolan

Page 1 | 2 | 3

A Young Girl Fetches Water

Bleached by a tyrant sun
she plucks the crescent handles of silver pails
from her back porch then barefoot whispers over grass, slipping
into the filigree of the demon wood
over pebbles and sticks that mark the path to the well's deep moon.

On top of a bareback horse
she circles the water, reins in her teeth
her arms sickle-shaped above her head.
She kneels and scoops the water
with cupped hands, blesses
herself with its glassine grace. She siphons
ribbons of it into buckets which she balances with string–
bean arms spilling stinging sheets
onto crusty brown feet.
Four o'clock roses awaken
to the flat slap of the screen door.