Four anniversaries. First time on the water since.
The trees already look like cirrhotic lungs,
the sky so fully white our canal looks
like sunblock, the glamorous yachts and ships
dragging like flies through it.
Ours slower than everyone else’s.
I say ours. I am alone on boat or land.
When our girl was finally big enough to leave
the land, Daddy started teaching her to swim.
Daddy out for a swim alone, river like timberline.
Our girl – looks like me, like me, so much like me –
well-lathered, slipped in after him before I could catch
her. Fast. Her, in the water down like a tree, past
my grasping fingers, down past my sight
or scream, somewhere, down far. Fast.
He couldn't see me without seeing our girl anymore.
I say our. But I still see her as the river’s.
About the Author: Do you feel isolated, uncertain about where in the world your story might be welcome? Megan Wildhood can relate deeply - she feels like a misfit in most places so she'd like to start some conversations. She's written about the various ways she's felt like a misfit in The Atlantic, Litro Magazine, America Magazine and in her forthcoming chapbook Long Division and she would be honored to hear your own outsider experiences. Head on over here to connect.