To Water

Ali Hintz
| poetry


we come to water even when we know
we have good tap at home and the sprinklers
are preset to distribute a half-inch of water
to the new peach trees every two days
late in the evening so their leaves don’t scald

we come to water in board shorts
and sun-bleached t-shirts, underwear
and a sports bra that looks like a bikini
from far away in case it gets warm enough to swim

we come to water with ham sandwiches, and water
bottled from a spring somewhere
down in the Everglades, shipped to Eureka
Springs, Arkansas, famed for the healing
powers of its waters

we come to water as we are sixty percent water
and water sticks to water through the force
of cohesion: little charges seeking their inverse,
always bonding, breaking away

we come to water even though the dam won’t hold
through the next big rainstorm,
the hand-cut stone pillars already
bloated like a beer belly just wanting
for one more drink to burst

we come to water even though the sign says not safe
for contact or drinking; because to be near the water
is a holiday, a picnic lunch, a lazy afternoon bass,
a child held by water wings, learning to swim

Ali Hintz is a queer neurodivergent Appalachian poet, farmer, and educator. Their poetry appears in Ecotone, Salt Hill, and more. They are the former book reviews editor for The Arkansas International and teach at the University of Arkansas.

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