Wellspring
Sonnet
Published in
Jan 20, 2022
They named her Happy Hollow, so it goes
Where the parking lot overflows, again,
Because they built this mules’ spring, long ago
Before gas guzzlers and Anthropocene
Killed the Holocene and buried it, this:
DeSoto’s sword comes flashing in the sun
His cup bearer fills a thirsty chalice
It’s 1541, the age of men —
I show up today without my armor
Carry my six glass bottles to the spouts,
Marvel at the ghosts of dead explorers,
Of valley Ouachita, “big hunting grounds,”
They say this old place is sacred — is it?
The water tastes sweeter with each visit.
