Spilled Water
A few ounces of water barely fill a glass
Transparent, silent, static at the bottom
Topple the cup, and water flows everywhere
The surge of ounces conveyed quick as a tide
Saturating the books on the shelf, soaking their pages
A clumsy accident we say, and maybe that’s true
Grab the nearest cloth and press dry each book
Yet the pages between covers remain damp
They’ll dry in an hour or three, curling like waves
Each sheet bearing a permanent water stain
Dusk gray or dove wing brown as pages shrivel
The rippled intaglio of having been doused
We harbor truth within our heart’s deepest coves
It slumbers quiet as a secret tucked in a locket
While hate flows from our tongue, lashing blindly
A snake hissing danger at the edge of reeds
Sorry is a sibilant word, sliding soft from our mouths
Like fire, water burns and leaves a riven scar
Just a thought 58
Image of glass of spilled water courtesy Max Pixel, CCO Public Domain
