Salvatore Ala

Rookie - 62 Points (February 18,1959 / Canada)

My Grandfather's Rain Barrels

Grandfather’s a barrel of a word.
When you reach the bottom, you’re still in the middle.
A rain barrel isn’t placed, it’s planted.
Each brims like a pond surrounded by summer.

Rain saturates the staves
And they distend into being like branches,
Sealing water as in water’s element,
Impermeable by being wholly porous
And drowning the chimes
Like a bell ringing in rain.

Space was buffeted barrel-wise,
They rounded the corners of property,
Like nature in nature growing,
Enlarging the circumference of the past
And overflowing into the present.

I’ve returned to my grandfather’s rain barrels,
To my grandfather, old man beside an old barrel,
Reservoirs of benevolent waters
Where my spirit is replenished
By the memory of their being.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Edited: Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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  • Rookie - 491 Points Juan Olivarez (7/27/2011 10:57:00 AM)

    You know Salvatore, my mother used to do the same thing. She used to say she preferred God's water to man's purified stuff for her plants. Thank you for the memories. (Report) Reply

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