Water, Mochudi, Botswana

The elders gathered in the kgotla shade pay little
heed to the children at the standpipe who fill
plastic buckets almost as big as themselves.
Red dress, yellow dress, with both hands
they haul the full blue buckets down the hill,
leaning their slight shoulders back,
their thin brown arms bent so the buckets
clear the ground. Water tips over the rim
and splashes their bare feet, turns the earth
to rills of mud between their toes. They laugh,
while the elders swat flies and talk in the shade.

Water, Dalmeny, Scotland

The dog's been chasing sticks in the afternoon heat
and now his elastic tongue looks for water.
But the ditch is dry and the trough by the trees is empty.
When we reach the burn there is only a trickle.
This is Scotland, land of flood and mist
and watergaw. Where rain beats the barley
and beads the thistle heads. We follow the path
and stir the grainy earth. This is Scotland,
rich in river and linn, in smirr and haar,
loch and firth, bog and moss
and mire. Every puddle has dried to dust.
 

Jenni Daiches

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