The banana tree in the yard is stunted and fruitless
The shack it shares a view with is homely and made of tin
The tapping of rain
The ground it sits on is soft and fragile
Easily broken and sunken
A septic tank in its belly
The well water is hard and heavy with minerals
It colors the sink and bathtub with a stern golden hue
We bathe our feet
We baptize our aunts crippled body
We run through it as children
Swimming in the ditch with Bobby
A beer bottle shard made quick work of my heel
We swam through the pesticides in the fields
The sting of a fresh cut
We were fierce and ready
