The Lawn Sprinkler

Silver parabolas

gleaming in the sun—

back and forth

in slow hypnotic


Curtains of water

beaded with droplet

prisms casting

ghostly rainbows—

we’d plunge right through,

or dash at right angles

through misty tunnels

beneath the moving arch,

shrieking as drops fell,

missing us.

We’d sashay forward,

wiggle and watch

rows of liquid streamers

lift, leave, and bow

to the other side—

then dare the return—

the lifting, the advancing,

the curling closer

and closer still—until

we’d madly quickstep back.

We were ourselves

prisms, life

playing through us

like light, casting


on a summer afternoon.

Pam Lewis

Pam Lewis’ work has appeared in various regional and national publications. Now retired, she enjoys the many opportunities for learning, and the natural beauty of Madison, WI.

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