Cross the water
and all your past
is on the other side.
When Carmon married Thomas she moved
to his father’s cabin, two narrow rooms and a porch
near the source of Yellow Creek,
as pretty a little spring as you could find.
Clear where the big-leafed sycamores laid on shade,
shiny as a mirror in the sun.
A spring as cold as a November morning,
upstream from the ford, sweet and nearly pure.
But the devil to walk back from with two buckets full.
If you’ll be washing clothes, put tubs out and pray for rain.