swampwater​

 

a lantern with no hook bobs in front of me

as I approach the dark edge

the crickets keep perfect time

with a whispered cattail accompaniment

I feel the wet earth under my bare feet

they are active here &

the hollow is cold this time of night

but the water is forgiving

fog wisps waft from the surface

weeds latch onto my ankles

the pixies’ lights surround me

some kind of divine bioluminescence

it grows warmer as I wade in further

nearly six feet deep &

my head barely above water

I resist the urge to swim as the

brackish taste fills my mouth

I drink & move forward

my feet sink into the clay &

my lungs are full

but I strain to watch

their opalescent shimmer

​

This poem originally appeared in Moss Puppy Magazine vol. 1: Swampland, pg. 60. You can read the issue here.