Drop in the Bucket
posted Oct 16, 2007
Until the first heat flattened
then glass-paneled the sky
and
grass and power lines
garage
doors and garbage cans folded into one dry-cleaned pantsuit,
we had left our hope in the tree—
muscled
bark and held on
each
packet of cellulose
a plan
an encouragement
a way out of the driveway
no check rearview mirror
we meant for the driving
to take as long as the sun takes to make the tree
be
again
to make the thing
spired wet
crenellated business of height and season and color-collapse
turn fire.
The fire came first.
We had to give up the car.
And therefore, the driving.
You bit me because you were thirsty and who could blame you?
We hadn’t stored any water any other place.
© 2007 Nicole Walker
’s work has appeared in Ploughshares, Shenandoah, Bellingham Review, Fence, Seneca Review, Iowa Review, Fourth Genre, Ninth Letter, and crazyhorse, among other journals. A recent NEA grant recipient, she teaches creative writing at Grand Valley State University in Grand Rapids, Michigan.