A Song of Water and of History

Studying history begins - 

for me, today -

with a long look at

the water running

in no particular hurry

in the stream next to me.

It is, I realize,

the same water my grandmother drank

and boiled her snap beans in

It is the same water we crossed to escape torture

and the same water they drowned us in

before we escaped.

It is the Water that gathered all in one place

and separated the Dry Land from the Dry Land

It is the Water over which the Spirit hovered

and within which life began.

And so, I went down to the river to pray.

Down by the riverside.

Where we laid down our sword and shield

where we hung our harps and wept

bleeding history from our face

for the captors demanded we sing a song

of Zion

of Home

of Sanctuary

and there was

no

Sanctuary.

And so, studying history,

I remembered and recalled and imagined

and I built an ark

a boat bound for the promised land

over Jordan's stormy banks

beyond the muddy waters of the Ohio

across the Rio Grande

and like the stream beside me

I sang a song

a song

of Water

and of History

and of that first pair of centipedes that

crawled out of the water

and made a home for the rest of us

and waited for Paradise.