Poets and singers write about rivers
but sometimes you just need to write
furiously and violently
until there’s nothing left inside
What comes next after
debilitating grief
Is it
Nothing
You text me about sewer rats
and I feel like I live in the swamps
Back to the channel
where the alligator gar
stalk and charge me
Do they swim to the depths
or only linger on the surface
like leeches
I’m drowning with my head above the water
coughing and gasping at the same time
struggling to find some fresh air
The brown water stains my arm hair
and algae lingers on my headtop
I’m not supposed to swim in the shallows
but going too deep scares me
The lake bottom is never the true bottom
Sink until you sink some more
Get her a towel
she’s hypothermic
shivering from the fear
of being left alone
with this poem
Swamps to Mountains 