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Two Days to NaPoWriMo



As usual, I will be posting my poem-drafts here from the beginning until the end of April, and then they'll all disappear due to the magick of the interwebs fairies. I may occasionally send you to other blogs to see what's up there, too. I'm having a difficult time getting into the right groove for this year. It will, considering the family's health, be the worst year ever for me to keep up, so I'm giving myself a head start and posting a draft tonight that I wrote a few days ago. I want to be a couple poems ahead of the game, so I don't stress when I miss a day, as will do. This one needs a new ending, but I haven't seen it yet. :-/


Dowsing

The forest for the trees, he said as the cows lowed.
The sun dropped behind the mountain in blue-orange fire.

First you sit a minute to clear your mind,
he said, and plopped down on a chunk of granite.

Closed his eyes. I watched his eyelids tremble and still.
Best is wood, he said finally, hold a forked branch

with a hand on each side of the fork and relax your
palms. Soon you'll feel the water pull at you like

a real strong wind. After a few moments he said,
this wood's no good for witching water. He straightened

some wire hangers into elongated L shapes with a belt tool.
Now here you hold the small bit of the L in each hand.

Hold them in front of you till the bars cross. There's
your water. He closed his eyes. My father with us

closed his eyes. I kept mine open to see the wires
cross into an X. Mark the spot, he said. And went

to his knees slowly to thank the Lord. My dad
lit a cigarette and sighed. Uncle Marty handed me

the military shovel, olive-green with purpose.
Now dig, he said. There's your wellspring.

The ground soft and loamy. I dug and dug.
Eventually we drilled, and found nothing.

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