The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by P.D. Bresnahan

WATER WITCH

I envy her certainty.
The way she jumps
from the Dodge Ram pick-up,
sets down a pail filled with branches
and picks a stick,
her arms a tanned extension
of the forked wood.
She walks
until the stick flips,
yanks her wrist down
then flags the spot,
steps again.
She knows the water is waiting.
Like an answer,
the stick bends
to where it first drank.



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