Poem of the Week | Big Water by Amy Blythe
We walked over crooked roots and branches
until we reached the water’s edge,
stopping only to take off our shoes
Your arms orbited mine as I shifted and splayed,
fingers fanning over a half-sunken statue of a windmill,
we slipped into the wild and wide
Our toes slithered through the surface to pebbles beneath,
a sweep of small ripples washing away our untruths,
we stood still, letting the water push aside
My not enough and your need for more
sank to tangle with the clammy weed below,
and, for a moment, we were brushed clean.
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Cover photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash.
