Poem: Splashing


by: Louan Christensen


Goose bump water rushes

over near frozen feet


on a hot summer afternoon.

Child-hands launch

hollowed out cucumber boats

And the race begins!

Bare feet sink in garden mud

of thirsty dirt and irrigation water.

Back- bent farmers hoe peas and beets.


on ragged jeans

Then eat them.

We slurp clear water from cupped hands

letting it trickle down our chins;

We pick green apples and pucker

at their sour sweetness.

Beyond the pasture fence

A tire swing hangs

From a sycamore tree.

We soar above the canal

Our voices squeal, ”Higher! Higher!”

Still, we drag

delighted toes and sunburned feet

through the gentle coolness.


>How I wish I could gift you

the long ago afternoon

when your daddy and the city kids

opened up the hydrant

in the humid streets of Philadelphia, <

bent their backsides

into the fierce, escaping Niagara,

creating water umbrellas,

rainbows, splashing puddles,

and laughter.

Oh to fill a bucket with

long agos and yesterdays

till they spill over the rim

and flood the summer grass.

To dance child, in the mist

of the garden hose

and paint wet footprints

on concrete canvas.

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