Triptych

“Isn’t it just
so awesome, Chandler?
Topanga said hi to me!”

We’re both named after
streets?

“Why do I talk to you anyway?
Whitsett will love this story!”

The phone
stays belligerently still
as I remember
saying nothing.

The well she stands behind
is called Love.

Her job
is to scream
each time a fool gets close,
a brutal, wicked scream
that scatters birds.

The wise,
she makes no noise.
They pass on their way,

carrying water.