One rare visit, grandmother Dorothy
where the cat, that selfish hunter, mouths it quickly,
A day's irrigation floods their homes,
silent signals to those beyond the water's lip,
of their nest's essential infrastructure.
Before her, this family: a finely tuned machine,
These days only farmers in my hometown are allowed to use flood irrigation. But when I was a child, we would irrigate the yard regularly. My brother and I would build dams and channels in the water and send our GI Joes downstream on makeshift boats. A few Joes capsized and drowned—lost forever to the leaves and mud. Imagine our surprise when years later our cat left a gift on the back porch—Wild Bill's legs!