Bottled Water
Words come alive
passing from moist lips to any ear who hears
a kiss of thoughts
I died in 1993
and rose again a moment after
water cold
cleansed words scoured inside
rose like rivers in spring
and flooded
anyone who asked for directions
like miniature prophets
who hand out bottled water
on Florida streets in July
July is the anniversary of my death…
a pastor
a prophet
a homeless man
they really were three men
who looked like one in motion
pulling over at the bus stations in an old Ford pickup truck
the thirsty drank
and some died… the way I died
and words came to life
like this poet’s.
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I have endless admiration for your ability to put raw emotion into words. You are beautiful!
Thank you Ann. That’s me, raw emotion!
I love how you capture your story in poetry. It makes me want to know more- and yet I’m entirely satisfied with the complete feeling of your piece. Strong, powerful images evoke a strong response. Wonderful work!
Thank you Heather! That means a lot coming from a passionate poet like yourself!