Heat, baking, a soft rooster crows far away

Mid day and finally, a breeze billows through 

I hear it in the plum tree

And then I feel it

It rustles the hair around my ears

And my nose turns up toward blue sky

eyes and mouth closed

Withholding 

And I feel a cold substance on my head at once

Bleeding down from center, into my eyes and I squeeze them shut

It is pool water 

Chlorine cool and strong

I blow a puff of air 

And I look up at him

The old man, my grandpa, smiling

A strong and wrinkled hand

Pats my head again

Then he is serious 

“You get too hot,” he says.

He made sure my hair never got too dry 

in the summer by the pool he dug

For his kids

For the daycare  

For a hundred children to be saved

From heat, from everything

To chase the plums we threw

That wobbled down to the bottom

To show each other

how many times 

we could cross 

in a single breath

For his wife

He dug this pool

and she laughed so much when he’d cannon ball

And announce in broken English: 

“Lookout below there!”

A retired mechanic

With the duty of patching the pool

Making a ramp so our dog wouldn't drown

Dousing every dry little head 

Of a peaceful kid

Who rested in a floatie