Land of Hydration

I wrote this poem thinking of my daughter the gardener, and the peculiar American habit we have of carrying flasks of water everywhere. In the profession of gardening in Florida, hydration is essential, but this passion for water is not shared by all.

I come from a land of hydration,

A land where the raindrops despair.

Microscopic and fine, little sponges entwine

Round my skin, liquid crystals in air.

I come from a land of hydration,

Though the sun rises high in the sky,

And awash in its light, till the dead of the night,

We replenish, replenish, or die.

And I come to your land, with its waters,

All clear, and as cool as the shade,

And I work in the sun, gallons drunk, ‘fore I’m done,

And I water the garden I’ve made.

And you come and you chide me as childish,

And you ask why I drink as I do.

Must I carry my drink everywhere? For you think

It is crass, impolite, and uncouth.

And I tell you the merits of water,

How we each carry ninety percent,

And without, our poor skin!  Our poor organs, within!

How they’d creak and they’d grind from neglect!

But you laugh in my face, and I wonder,

If your problem with floods and with muck

Makes you always disdain all your rivers and rain,

Without sun, to dry everything up.

I come from a land of hydration,

Where the roaches grow big as my thumb,

But I dang double-dare you to say who’s prepared,

For the watery world, yet to come.

For another watery poem, read This Fish. For a flash fiction on climate change, read Green Land.