The Myth of W-a-t-e-r

It was not a single word and there was no utterance.
You may have your play, your frozen moment in time
if these please you. But understand, Teacher lead me
to the well house to distinguish between water and what
holds it for drinking. I held the cup under the pump and she
wrenched the handle. I could smell her sweat, though
I didn’t know its name—only that it mixed with the garden
and told me she was near. The liquid hit my fingers
where I gripped the cup’s handle—in my other upturned palm
she spelled the letters over and over, like fire.
There was a moment when everything shifted.
My mind accepted thought like a body crossing a threshold.
Through the opened door, she beckoned—it was
illumination and joy, then more words until Teacher,
Helen, world, go. Go into your life! I have.