the drowning

i remember drawing up on my tippy toes to vine myself around you. the lake was wicking off of you. onto me. you were so warm as i hung myself off of you, together to dry in the still summer air.

the sunfish flapped over their circular nests. the dock that you built so solid under our feet. the lake all in motion. confused. the sun in a million starry-eyed cuts catching on shiners and lures cast away. 

i could close my eyes and come home. i could give away half of my vision to you.  endless time in circumference washed up on the rocks.

tennis balls float away from the mouths of goldens. memories. never to be retrieved. soda cans washed white by the winters. the sound of me flapping in irons with you. white canvas colors. unmoored at last. driftwood and fiberglass, edges all softened.

decay lay below the dock spiders clinging starfish to running boards. foliage from autumns ago, dark under belly white catfish.

i hung on like a vine, as long as i could. your belly white washboard and dark curly locks, licking my highlights, just kissing my lips.

a heartbeat concussion came over my head. my fear turned to dread. your drowning appeared to me always accidental. lost in the layers of lures in the rocks.

the drowning apparent. my tippy toes can’t keep my head above water. 

i am back to just daughter. unmoored, in the unforgiving ways of the world.

my morse code cries out, three times in the night.  silently flashing. out there you’re thrashing. gin and tonic rolling rocks to confusion again.

rums got us tight. the darkness crept up with the night. the catfish turned up, belly white.

my eyelids are shuttered. you’re now out of sight. my heartbeat has fluttered, sunspotted the blues. blind, black and white. the wood all turned white by the winters.

my tippy toes peeling back, the whole scene now in splinters. crushing my heels. cold as the winters. i cry as i fall like dead leaves off a maple. sliding immemorial with the cloth from the table.

famine. i open my eyes to the trees all bereft of color. the water in my eyes. the who what and whys.

a change in the weather, is all can describe it. my skin now like leather, hangs tough on my bones.

now i am daughter, and it’s late september. i long for the lost stolen days we remember.


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