molly pitcher 

i first met you
when you were filling
your metal canteens 
in the fleetwood pond 

& i told you that 
it's not good to drink
lake water

the algae's webbed feet
on your hands
you walked into 
a gust of wind

on the car ride home
yesterday we passed
a highway named after you
& dad began
to explain your story 

i told him

i know molly pitcher

& i thought of you
standing behind me
in the full-length 
bathroom mirrors in 
the back of 
the girl's locker room

you touching my shoulder 

your long grey skirt--
hair braided tight
against your head

dad tells me about
how to took to the artillery--
loading the cannons 
at the battle of monmouth 
in 1778

i find this ironic because
i remember your for
water

for the times on
the playground where i wondered
the parameter 
of the soccer fields alone
& you stood stoic beside
the treeline-- a cool
pitcher of water to dump
over me

washing me all over

my baptism was a process 
that occurred over
the course of several
of our encounters

sometimes you'd have
the green garden hose

telling me to kneel 
in the driveway 
as you put your thumb
over the opening

water spraying & 
rainbow laughing in
the brief mist

historians suggest
you might have been several
woman-- an amalgamation
of all the mircles
woman performed on
men's revolutions

as if there could
only be one

i have met so many of
you now

was i ever one?

we have little control
over the water we give

sometimes it comes
out of my palms like
stigmata-- 

& there are ghosts
who still drink me

the spigots in our veins

do we bleed water?

it is true then, that your
husband collapsed 
& you took his spot 
at the cannon

if you're anything
like me you wanted
to fill the cannon with 
daffodils & stop 
the earth from exploding
around you  

clumps of black ash
in your hair

braids coming unfurled

my braid
came undone so much
that they fell off my head

brown hair on the floor
of the barber shop

because we know all
free women must cut their
hair short like men 

i wanted to ask you
for advice 

when do you stop 
filling yourself up
& pouring out?

when do you let 
men fucked the earth
& wipe your hands on
your dress?

dunk your feet
in the creek

tell me molly pitcher

do you make it rain?

could you 
hale then on me?