rare visit, grandmother Dorothy
where the cat, that selfish hunter, mouths it quickly,
day's irrigation floods their homes,
silent signals to those beyond the water's lip,
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!