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Lexington Poetry Month
Wet Season
article by
Bernie Deville

Wet season
at the well of tears,
bucket and twist rope
short drop & quickly damp.  

The well path
a native trail
of time & season,
tolerating no bud
of growth for long.  

The well’s stone edge
crumbles, seeping mortar
& hope onto the dust
like frybread crinkles
on kitchen formica.  

Wet season at the well
of tears out
the back door
and beyond the grave.

3 responses to “Wet Season”

  1. beautiful imagery, a great write.

  2. Rae Cobbs says:

    “like frybread crinkles/ on kitchen formica”
    The entire poem is clear as water.

  3. Melva Sue Priddy says:


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