Today's poem is by Eamon Grennan


Since life is like a burning house, what can he make
Of the wells he finds in the fields around here, their walls
Scummed with moss, beetles swimming in their frigid
Green depths, not a drop drinkable till a hard scouring
Happens? Ruined stone, a rusted padlock, nettles hemming
Broken glass: the fire that took the life of the place has left
Such signs of flourishing decay. With a steel brush,
A shears, a fresh vessel, he'll begin the business of cutting
And cleansing. Then, with clear water in the earth under him,
He'll bend to the next task, building from the ground up.

Copyright © 2003 Eamon Grennan All rights reserved
from Quarterly West
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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