Getting the Hang of It

You rise first
Nestled and warm
You watch your friends sleep
And see the child in them

Moving now

Edge of lake
Alone and denuded
Water is cold
You run into it

Baraka wrote
On closing the eyes
An act so simple
You float

When the eyes meet the ceiling to go beyond
When you sink feet hit the muddy floor
Head ride

Wet beads drying upon you
Wet cans of soda, pink towel, dog
Greet you at the campsite

An August peach bursts
Between your teeth
And soil catches what drips out

In act two
You abandon all that
Precludes the original joy

You float
(Dog licks your leg)
You feel love

All is still
Like you
You’ve made it so

---

Poetry
-
January 11,
2020
-
1-minute
read

---

---

Rosemary Flutur

is a writer, researcher, and student based out of Tiohtià:ke/Montréal.

---