Ma kept squirreled in the kitchen under the
threshold.
It wasn’t very much.
But it was enough for him to get good and drunk.
He went out last night.
While Ma moaned and begged for water.
He drank up the emergency money
until it was gone.
I tried to help her.
I couldn’t aim the dripping cloth into her mouth.
I couldn’t squeeze.
It hurt the blisters on my hands to try.
I only made it worse for Ma. She cried
for the pain of the water running into her sores,
she cried for the water that
would not soothe her throat
and quench her thirst,
and the whole time
my father was in Guymon,
drinking.
July 1934