Poetry by Juliette Sebock
To Fetch a Pail of Water
I followed our old walking path
as if the memory of you left a trail,
breadcrumbs scattered like rose petals
along the aisle, perfect footprints
in the rose-white snow.
Twilight branches made a puzzle
of the sidewalk,
crunching autumn leaves
strewn across to ensure the
pieces would never fit.
I was almost sure
you'd have to duck beneath it,
winding up like a jack-in-the-box
to spring forward in your next step,
weasel screaming "Pop!"
I was headed for the fountain,
already turned off for the winter to come,
yet I took a detour along the dirt road trail,
down the subtle slant to admire the flowers,
or what was left before they'd, too,
When I reached the fountain,
there was only a puddle of mud left
at its base, blurry beneath the streetlights
as the sky grew dark.
The trees threw their leaves to it,
raking them to a pile,
this last bit of sustenance.
I wondered if, like me, the trees
were just holding on
to long-gone memories.
Juliette Sebock (she/her) is a Best of the Net-nominated poet and writer and the author of Mistakes Were Made, Micro, How My Cat Saved My Life and Other Poems, Three Words, Plight of the Pangolin, and Boleyn, with work forthcoming or appearing in a wide variety of publications. She is the founding editor of Nightingale & Sparrow, runs a lifestyle blog, For the Sake of Good Taste, and is a regular contributor to Marías at Sampaguitas, Memoir Mixtapes, and The Poetry Question. When she isn't writing (and sometimes when she is), she can be found with a cup of coffee and her cat, Fitz. Juliette can be reached on her website, juliettesebock.com, or across social media @juliettesebock.