Playing War

I remember the tomato plants
so green it was unimaginable
in such a field of dusty brown
except
for the pulsing fruit
so red I thought
they could see it from San Francisco
 
My brother and I
four and five
each with a handful
of green plastic armymen
who would forever retreat
against the oncoming tide
as Mom and Dad
watered the rows
valleys of brown soil
racing along tomato vines
cantaloupe
and honeydew
 
Joe and I
mud between our toes
giggling strategies
to empty fields
and plastic ears
under a sky without clouds
 
I don’t recall the water
sparkling from green hoses
ever overwhelming our little units
back then it seemed
the rows of tomato
were infinite
so long
the well-water waves
could not catch us
 
Now I sit
in this green cushioned chair
in the shade of the old barn
watering the rows alone
watching the water pool
and become still
on the downhill side
 
and I rise with a spade
to partition the rows
into compartments
each still lake
a previous life
 
Today it looks
like the rows are almost full
and I know
I won’t have to rise again
from this chair in the shade
because I can see by the flow
I can feel and I know
that the well
is running dry

Mateo Amaral is a born-and-bred Bay Area writer. Raised in Hayward, California, Mateo began writing at UC Davis where he studied English Literature. He was the head cartoonist for The California Aggie, the daily campus newspaper, as well as being a staff writer and contributing artist. Mateo is currently working towards his Master’s in Creative Writing at National University, where he is the Editor-In-Chief of its literary journal The Gnu. His fiction and poetry has been published extensively in The Gnu and Mateo has received honors for Best Poem. Mateo is currently living abroad in Central America with his wife, where he is learning Spanish and working on his second novel.