Released into the Blue
Late August, pears nod from branches
thick and full. The river licks its banks,
frogs deep–throating the reeds.
Upstream, two girls squeal on a trestle,
swimsuits dry as they peek over the edge.
Reclining under leafy shadows
I witness the courtship song of summer —
boys circling midstream, urging
the girls to join them, vouching for the depth,
the warmth of the current.
Their vigil rewarded, the blonde tucks her elbows
and leaps away from the pilings.
Droplets crystal, scatter, and fracture.
The boys whoop as she emerges, vision fogged.
Mia, come on, she calls the mute statue
still gripping wooden planks.
The air ripples with sound.
Fear sparks the sunburned face —
visions of a train as unimaginable as quarks to a Neanderthal.
Hectoring crows flap the tree line,
ragweed dusting the river,
and the trestle groans and grumbles.
The girl arcs over the water, reflection rising to catch her.