Water

Your first bath —

a midwife cleans you up.

You don't have fun.

Then come

the sprinkles of holy water in church,

the tepid water of the nursery,

the ardor of rain water,

the predatoriness of ocean water,

the ice water after you make love,

swallow fire or juggle clubs.

You drink that water in one gulp.

Motes of dust stuck to furniture,

your eyes are red,

but the tears dried up.

Left here alone for weeks on end

with waterlogged images

to ponder in thick gray clouds,

you play hide-and-seek

with memories of the March sky

in patches of meat and mustard,

with a carpet of bold spring flowers,

with a blue outline of mountains.

The fated assault of the time,

dark shadows around the eyes,

the hair unwashed and tattered,

promises written in water

form a puddle of bitter tears.

Your life is water under the bridge.

The last bath.

© Helen Kanevsky, 2018

Bridge over the South Yuba River ~ Nevada City, California
Photo by Kelly M. Grow, Calif. Dept. of Water Resources
from Wikimedia Commons 

The Game of Life

It’s a game called life

With treasures lost

Loves, friends, jobs, opportunities

Ne’er to come again.

What went astray?

Perhaps to have played a piece differently

Just one small maneuver

Might have brought another outcome.

But we cannot make those changes

Yesterday’s chance gone..

So we breathe deeply and jump ahead

Preparing for more of the game.

© Shelly Sitzer, 2017

Four Gods Playing Checkers
from Sadao, Thailand
Photo by Photo Dharma
from Wikimedia Commons