Drinking Bottled Water

Drinking Bottled Water South of the Yangtze, swamps fester. The exile sends no news. —Tu Fu, "Dreaming of Li Po" South of the Rivanna and the Roanoke flows the Dan, and south of that, the water smells like it should have a childproof cap. That's where I am. Thirsty. But the water from the spigot stinks of must. I wander out to buy the stuff you drink. It smacks of decadence to spend so much getting slighdy bitter Appalachian "eau de source Sweet Springs" and makes me think of all I didn't say, last time you called. Here comes Remorse, thoughtfully escorting me, my bottle, inkpen, book and paper toward a place to write a letter. Cheerful. Not about how my hand shook, tangled in the phone cord. Maybe this: a landscape. Or a pavement-scape, if I describe sky smudged against wet concrete, fronds in planters, more bulbs reared back to strike? No. Having found some solace in a clot of measly daffodils is not at all the sort of news I want to send. —Leigh Palmer 73 ...