Like teabags poised
over the roiling water,
we dangled, by turns,
from a rope.
Pushed off the roof
of the boat,
swung out and dropped
into the muddy mug
of the Mississippi
only to emerge
laughing
surprised
at having survived
the fall.
Little mud mustaches
etched the sepia
memories of
that river
that day
that summer
that childhood
into our skin.
Now the sandbars
whose soft embrace
showed us the way
rarely surface --
the channel and our veins
silted
with the detritus
of forty years.
We have reunions,
make note
of those not there.
Search name tags
for faces
we no longer
recognize.
We bury
parents
friends
and fears
of the undertow
as the bank sloughs
each spring
rechannels
our expectations
and we emerge
laughing
surprised
at having survived
at all.
~~ Elodie Pritchartt
August 18, 2010
