canal

i had to write this for my creative writing class... my teacher seemed to like it, even though i don't

 

canal

 

five miles east of the head gates

that pull water out of the Arkansas River

and feed it into the canal,

is a bridge.

this bridge is really nothing more than a steel grate,

15 feet across and 4 feet wide.

this spot served several purposes in my youth.

 

it was a daily retreat for my friends and i

because it sat up on a hill

and from the road below, you couldn’t see if anyone was there

we would sit on the bridge for hours

the muddy water crashing and rushing beneath us. 

on windy days, it would blow into your face.

we would talk about everything,

school to the future.

 

sometimes i would go out there alone

and just watch the canal.

i would imagine the water was my life.

turbulent and bumpy here, but it would get better later.

and i looked down the canal as far as i could. 

i would try to see out onto the plains

where the water was taken by farmers

to water their crops. 

and i prayed to an unknown god

that i would someday share a life-giving water too.

 

there were trees growing in the dirt next to the canal. 

in the summer, they were in full bloom

and smelled sweet as they hung over the canal.

in the fall, when the canal was empty and the leaves falling,

the place would look so lonely

and i would feel the same loneliness

in the face of the coming winter. 

but spring would come,

the canal would fill

the trees would bloom

and my spirit would sing again.

Author's Note

i rarely use capital letters or punctuation