Differently Wet

I look into my glass and
see the hue of sun-soaked rye.
I put my nose to its edge
and smell soil,
discern dirt,
learn of land.

The liquid on my tongue is full,
global in note. I can taste
more than I can name.

This drink is cool on my tongue,
warm in my throat,
hot to my heart.

I learned the other day that “whiskey” is
from Gaelic for ‘water of life.’ Of course,
such water is used to
slake and drown;
dream and destroy;
commemorate and obliterate.

Water is life.
Water is death. And
this sweet on my tongue slips
down the same throat that
channels breath, which will
one day end in death – to
begin a life
differently wet.

6 thoughts on “Differently Wet

  1. arlavergne says:

    Best excuse for rye I’ve heard. Or read! Very fine. I favour scotch…

    • agjorgenson says:

      Thanks… the photo accompanying this on FB and Twitter has the rye grains in a scotch drinking glass from a tour of a facility some years ago. I hope that isn’t too scandalous! I love scotch as well. I like rye’s that are aren’t mixed with other grains. It’s probably the Albertan in me…

  2. Love this. Allen, maybe we could arrange a short conversation sometime about pairing rye with a biblical text, for a podcast!?

  3. shoreacres says:

    Here’s an interesting tidbit. Down here, there are a lot of ‘country people’ who call whiskey ‘brown water.’ They’d like your poem.

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