The Well
He grabs her wrists to keep her fists
From beating his still chest.
But she withstands and pulls his hands
To rest on her shrill breast.
He pulls her near to hide her tears
And kiss her pallid face.
But then he leaves her soul bereaved
And flees their secret place.
She runs– runs– runs
To the center of the town
And weeps into the well.
Dawn disguises
Steam that rises
From the tears that swell.
Her throat is dry, and with a sigh,
She lowers the small pail
To take a drink before she thinks
Once more of his betrayal.
The water burns, her stomach churns,
While she sinks to the ground.
As liquid spills, she lies quite still,
And makes no other sound.
No one– one– one
At the center of the town
Sees her behind the well.
They take their share
Without a care
And use it where they dwell.
The water is distributed
Throughout the humming town.
It’s used to brew rich soups and stews
And tea to wash them down.
The illness spreads as all are fed,
Obtuse in their last feast.
Decay begins from deep within
As poison is released.
The sun– sun– sun
Lights the center of the town,
Casts shadows on the well.
Their brows are moist
And not one voice
Can break the silent spell.
The sun subsides when he decides
To return to their place.
When he arrives, the moon shines high
And lights the river’s haze.
He ventures down toward the town,
To roam its quiet streets.
But as he nears, it becomes clear
Nobody truly sleeps.
He runs– runs– runs
To the center of the town
And finds her by the well.
Won’t touch her face,
But for the trace
Of tears he cannot quell.
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2012
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