"Bring Me a Little Water "
She trips down the white blooming
fields. King Cotton. Her little rusted pail
is sloshing water. She carries a tin ladle
in her small baked palms.
Bring me a little water, Sylvie*
Her hair is untamed
by a mother's hand.
A pallet on the floor
outside her mistresses' door--
Oh how lucky to have
porridge in the morning,
bacon fat at night.
Bring me a little water, Sylvie
Old man's hand is red with raspberry juice
or is it blood?
Says "Hi Syvie,"
his lips so dry, he can't pronounce
the "L."
Sylvie smiles -her teeth whiter than
cotton, her musical laugh
all there is to live for.
Every little once in a while
*Traditional Folk Song
© 2005 Teresa White
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