Leafy green
Southern titans
The Ouachita Mountains
Pour their generous
Wet offering
To the lowland city
Thriving at their feet.
Steaming wet offering
Clear and hot,
Aged 4000 years, stored ancient rain
Rising 6000 feet from mountain faults.
No fish can swim in these
Waters of high temperatures,
But humans seem to enjoy them.
Leftover Victorian Era bath-houses,
Modern hotels and spas
Wouldn’t be built and patronised otherwise.
People wouldn’t take dips for a moment into
Heated water seeking relaxation, wonder-working
Curative power for the body otherwise.
Travellers and locals wouldn’t bring to spigots
Big glass jugs to fill with the intent of
Taking a little of Hot Springs home otherwise.
I had the opportunity to visit
My first true green area in years
For a scant 25 minutes, there and back
From home. From a silver laptop computer.
One century as a national park,
One decade as a posh
Gangsters’ paradise of which Coolio knew nothing,
Four millennia as a wellspring,
Still welcome to all who feel
The need to stop and bathe,
Soak all ailments away
At porcelain and marble tile
Altars to blessed water
One-hundred and forty-three
Fahrenheit degrees.
I followed a helpful ranger
Through past and present,
Through her domain of expertise,
Hot Springs, Arkansas where
The liquid stream and the urban stream
Concurrently flow, through a digital portal:
Zoom®.
W: 5.25.21
[ For Ashley Weymouth. ]
The Green Shoe Sanctuary 