It springs from a well whose bricks were shaped by suffering
Molded in the heat of lost 'forevers'
She draws it
Plunging the bucket into the unfathomable depths of her being
She shows no fear
That the rope, sinews losing hold of each other through countless seasons

and kept together by an unreasonable force of will may snap
Forever denying her the means to retrieve her joy
Painstakingly she works her arms in the familiar motion
First her right, then her left,
drawing, pulling, clasping tightly to the sweat stained threads
Her hands calloused by the hard labour of life imprisonment in, Life
Wrap around the rope as a last hope.
Still she works
First her right, then her left
Until the old pail is in her hands again
Its emptiness discarded
She takes a moment and then she tips it over her worn frame
Allowing the sensation to completely embrace her in its warm familiarity
And then she drinks
And she drinks
and she drinks
Of her laughter