Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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All water is a part of other water. Cloud talks to lake; mist speaks quietly to creek. Lake says something back to cloud, and cloud listens. No water is lonely water. All water is a part of other water. River rushes to reunite with ocean; Tree drinks rain and sweats out dew; Dew takes elevator into cloud; Cloud marries puddle; puddle has long conversation with lake about fiord; Fog sneaks up and murmurs insinuations to swamp; Swamp makes needs known to marshland; Thunderstorm throws itself on estuary; Waterspout laughs at joke of frog pond. All water understands. All water understands. Reservoir gathers information for database of watershed; Brook translates lake to waterfall; Tide wrinkles its green forehead and then breaks through. All water understands. But you, you stand on the shore of blue Lake Kieve in the evening and listen, grieving as something stirs and turns within you. Not knowing why you linger in the dark. Not able even to guess from what you are excluded.
Tony Hoagland
I am a guidance counselor and coordinator of gifted-and-talented services at a small public elementary school. Our fifth-grade students, who are learning about nature’s water cycle, will be reading Tony Hoagland’s poem “The Social Life of Water” [September 2009]. Supplementing our science lessons with poetry helps to integrate the curriculum by teaching writing with other subjects. One of my gifted students recently wanted to know why he had to write well when describing a classroom science station, since it wasn’t about composition but about condensation. Perhaps Hoagland’s poem will help him see that “no water is lonely water.”