I See Myself, But From the Outside

Summer at Blue Creek, North Carolina 

There was no water at my grandfather's 

when I was a kid and would go for it
with two zinc buckets. Down the path,
past the cow by the foundation where
the fine people's house was before 

they arranged to have it burned down.
To the neighbor's cool well. Would
come back with pails too heavy,
so my mouth pulled out of shape. 

I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides 

of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me.

More Jack Gilbert, this time via here.