I like to write; in that freeform manner where poems might be songs or just lilting prose. Sometimes I start and don’t finish for months, like this little piece about seasons, resources and trust.
I am a girl at the well.
You might be a thief.
Therefore, nothing is simple.
I go out from my homeland;
my quiet spaces, my peace
and you sneak in.
On returning, I want to tell you
that we cannot transact.
You’re not to take and I’m not to give.
But I withdraw, admitting a lack of conviction?
Examination saturates my eyesight.
I go back to drawing water.
Are you thirsty, sir?
Where do you come from?
Do you have far to go?
By the third glass, I think I have resolved it.
You can draw deep from my well,
in this respite before your long journey.
Let us part friends; and keep secrets for each other.