No water No water,
he said daily after the stroke, all day.
Don’t give me water.
We used water to shampoo
half his crown,
his hair matted since the surgery.
I poured water from a red mug behind him
I asked remember the swimming?
He was a major in the army and a water polo player who dove into a dark lake
one summer night forty years ago, searching for a comrade
after a motor boat picnic went awry.
Next I dipped his feet one by one in the basin,
patting his foot tops with palm scooped water
like his village boys did to the backs of buffalo sitting
in sunny green ponds like black rocks.
Feel it dad.
We arranged him in his bed.
With moist strands on his left shoulder,
he was quiet.
