-After Debra Fritts, “Empty Buckets”
In a rickety raft with empty buckets
and no oar, I stand transfixed, cast-off
afraid to move, the question,
Will I survive? raking me.
I slow down, look around
find a hidden oar locked on the side.
Like a parrot waking, I squeal a song,
praise for this boat that floats.
Sudden as thunder the buckets fill:
currants, apricots, cashews, chocolate
from Belgium. A reminder, I believe
in angels, miracles, ancestor guides.