Bone Dry and Scorched

Poem By Suzanna C. de Baca

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I walked to the old farm pond
With a bent cane pole 
and a can of worms squirming
in a handful of black dirt
just like my grandpa used to do.
I stood on the bank and cast my line 
but the fish floated to the surface
white bellies facing the sun
and I went hungry
 
I climbed down a deep well
carrying a battered wooden bucket  
And a dented tin dipper 
like my grandma used to have 
hanging next to the pump by the washhouse.
But a murky odor overwhelmed me,
the scent of foul sewer and rot
and I went thirsty.
 
I stood by the shallow sink 
and rolled up my sleeves to wash my hands.
I picked up a smooth white bar of soap
just a sliver that smelled like milk and ginger,
the kind my mother used to use.
But the tap ran rust, all orange and brown
Like blood in the basin 
And I could not get clean.
 
I am parched and dying, 
bone dry and scorched,
staring at the arid river
What will be left 
for my sons and daughters?
What will be left 
to nourish the asters in my garden
when I’m gone?
Just a stagnant stream,
a putrid pool.
Nothing but dirty water.

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Suzanna C. de Baca is a native Iowan, proud Latina, publisher, author, and artist who is passionate about exploring change, transformation, and life in the Heartland. She is an inaugural member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative, where she publishes poetry and personal essays. She lives in the small rural town of Huxley, Iowa, population 4244.