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Drawing Water And then she says Pointing to the sky: Look, The sun's drawing water. And I, being who I am, Say: Doing what? Drawing water she replies, Pointing to the bands of light Piercing the clouds and Disappearing into the mountains Above Stickleyville. My mother says the sun Draws water from the streams And lakes to make clouds—it means It's going to rain. Forty-six years in the mountains And I've never heard this. Drawing water? I say. Yes, she insists, drawing water. Two years of marriage and this Is the first time she's told me this. Yes, she says, a little defensively Because I'm smiling and She still isn't quite sure who I am—that's what she says and mamaw, too. I drive on past the new road construction, Stopping at the light in Pennington. I turn to her, a chuckle Working up from below. What? She demands, What are you saying? You're right, I say I'm what? You're right, I say, It's drawing water. Yeah, right, she sniffs— But looks away, smiling, Tell me I'm right, I know I'm right. 78 I check to see if the clouds Are darkening, but there's still No sign of change as yet. What? She says. Look, I say, Pointing to the skies. There are sunbeams in the sky. Yeah, I know, she says, smiling tightly As the sun disappears. The sun's drawing water. —Scott DuVaI 79 ...

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