The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Israel Wasserstein
At the Bend in Cow Creek
Leaves slide across the dark surface,
brown water divides prairie.
This far out, no human sounds—
only wind through trees, a woodpecker downstream.
You leap, as always, headfirst. Below, discarded
trash, rusted beyond recognition, catches
the top of your head. Weeks later, you’ll
regain some movement in your fingers.
We draw you out, wait for civilization
to claim you, paramedics travelling fifteen miles
from Hutchinson. Long enough to know:
we drag our world with us, even to the depths.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication