i watch you stumble over the uneven sidewalk. when
the concrete touches your skin it
makes your palms bleed brittle
and worn and you brush the gravel
gone.
later at the river
you wade into the cold. bare feet
mucky with clay and sand until
your toes hit the rocks and
that’s when you stop. current please don’t
take me away you say. please don’t
pull me apart. these stones
sit heavy in your stomach. you
swallowed them to be more
like earth but now they just weigh you
down, keep you stuck in place
like an anchor. sinking deeper
into the riverbed
current please don’t take me away.
obscured by bark and leaves
i see the wind in your hair so
lovely like always. no
sun shines, just cloud and mist rising
from the river. current
please don’t pull me apart. listen
to me now: you are more
than roadway construction, abhorred
monday mornings, corn fields,
and hell is real written as a
short-winded promise of
the wicked and cruel. you call for
me to join your game but
i’m not ready to swallow the
stones.
again: you are orion’s belt.
three clear stars, one for each stone
burning bright as hope in
your stomach. city pollution
cannot hide you away.
again: you are creek walks in the
summer. the hills we call
mountains, half moons that follow the
car. cicadas every
seventeen years. lie dormant, lie
still. tell the current to
keep you safe. stones in your stomach
like an anchor, sink to
the clay. hit rock and beckon me
forward. river please don’t
take us away.
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