Day 65 of 100 Poems/100 Days

Jacobson

I split the high grass
with my breath and parts,
my feet, my hands.

Towards the shallow water,
knee-deep as I remembered it,
but the catfish have disappeared.

They used to sniff my toes,
licking under the nails –
eating what I had carried from the land;
the black mud and the strange things.

But the tide stripped their bones clean,
made marrow into rock.

In a few years
I’ll have a child –
a king, a boy with his crown –
and I’ll give him a strong name,
like ‘Moses’ or ‘Gibraltar’,
to give him the strength I never found.

I’ll take him to this place,
to the knee-deep water,
leave him alone for a while.

He will call,
and the catfish will respond,
come darting out of the rock to him,
tickle between his toes,
and force the sediment underneath his nails.

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2 thoughts on “Day 65 of 100 Poems/100 Days

  1. Pingback: What 100 Poems Taught Me | words vs. pictures

  2. Pingback: My Favorites | words vs. pictures

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