travelpoem #3
a donkey fell in the cloutie well and drowned of course the well isn’t sacred anymore for you can’t have a thing like that happen and retain sanctity they found a nearby pool with the requisite hawthorn its branches now boast the scraps of paper the ribbons the moistened handkerchiefs bearing prayers for easing lumbago safe childbirth a computer that won’t freeze up big folk and presumably wee folk have no trouble switching allegiance the upstart pool and hawthorn are they humble in their translation the ancient spring and hawthorn are they lonely in their desertation and the donkey — the donkey meant no harm
© Jacqueline Jackson 2006
This article appears in Feb 9-15, 2006.
