Milk for Morning Cereal
Pre-electricity at the cabin, we kept
milk cold in the spring across the road.
Whoever was chosen to fetch it would
baptize their footgear in dew drawn
from the atmosphere by temperature
differentials. But you dared not
contemplate that as you negotiated
fetching the bottle from the spring
lest you — as we long feared — pitch
head-first into the sunken barrel
to drown before you were missed
back in the conviviality of the cabin.
I recall images of myself barrel-
stuck like a Charlie Chaplin figure,
feet pumping the air for non-existent
purchase to anchor pulling oneself
out of fatal harm’s way. Imagine that
as your last thought on this Earth,
Heaven itself chuckling uncontrollably.
To reincarnate would be embarrassing.