| Who'd expect watering the grass in searing summer heat to inspire a poem? Clay proves that poetry is all around us in this genuinely satisfying assessment of life in one of those nothing-special-but-all-is-well moments. This poem brings forth contented memories of watching my mother water the zinnias that lined our front walkway. I remember the heat but, even more, I remember the smell of the water spraying out of the hose...how the drops shimmered in the sun...the security of knowing supper was on the stove, my daddy was on his way home from work, and life was pretty darn good on Illinois Avenue. Maybe Clay's words will take you home, too. |
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