poem

 Depth

There isn’t much beneath my surface.

I’m Chagrin River creek deep

Baked almost dry

By sultry suns of July.

I’m not who you think

Fooling you hasn’t been fun

All I can do 

Is make you wet,

Stomping and kick-splashing,

Stirring up clouds of silt

So you can’t fathom the true depth.

Plausible deniability.

You can’t tear down what never gets built.

When the sediment settles 

The water clears liked a dusted mirror

That only shows a dissolving face,

First the reflection and then your own,

Just before the glass cracks

And hints at slivers of life

Shining through from the other side.

The sandy bed of the creek trembles,

Shifts and gives way to gravity,

To absence, to you falling,

The only thing you can do

When the ground gives way.

You are the one who can't stop falling

And you're falling all alone,

And you're falling all alone

But I’ve already left the river

And my feet are firm and dry.

That’s me, over there,

Silhouetted on the opposite shore,

Skipping stones across skins of water.

8/16/21