I froze a drop of rain, peered
within in its frame and watched the story
of our home reveal above me.
Earth engulfed by water, uncovered to feel
the sun’s hot glare. Rain became waves
that roared before me as I witnessed the devouring
of a mountain, as I listened to inhuman voices.
I began to understand the purification
of water, like pushing reset on creation.
A man with one knee planted on the bank
of Jordan broke his calloused hand through
the river. His eyes stared ahead, his palm
cupped the water, his other hand at the hilt
of a sword, acknowledging the unknown dangers.
I saw a queen wash her face a thousand
years before a young boy pulled up
water from a well, not knowing the
pail he’d bring his mother was once
blessed by royalty.
I saw my brother being washed in a basin
with water that five hundred years ago
belonged in the cup of a king.
And through the thunder of an errant storm,
as the veil began to close above me, I saw that
in another age, another would pick it up,
would drink it, would know it rose
and know it fell again.
By Zarah Parker
I’ve decided Friday’s would be my day for posting creative work. I won second place in a poetry contest with this poem (it has been tweaked since). Sometimes I work on a poem so long that I no longer know what to do with it. This is one of those times. Enjoy anyway!