Puddle

Puddle

Gravel, plastic pipe,
a retaining wall of
wooden planks newly placed
on the property line to try to keep
their basement dry.

Up the hill, in our yard,
a puddle appears,
doesn’t percolate away.
We trudge out and see
it every day,
gleaming like wet moss,
or dew on summer-morning grass,
clear water, reflecting
clouds and blue, a constant pool.

We empty bottles of food dye,
rainbow-hued,
down water closets.
The water remains mountain clear.
No connections there.

We puzzle over this unwonted wetness...
Is it a spring,
ground water,
a broken pipe?

Is it pure, with miraculous qualities?
Was it caused by a nudge
from the San Andreas fault?
Or a freshwater high tide
pulled hard by a moon that was full?
Did the earth tip the other way
and slosh it up the hill?
Why now?

by Elizabeth Southwood