by Truedson J.S.
The dock rocks up
& down & back &
forth like my grandma’s
antediluvian chair
& my shirt flaps like a pennant
as the girl’s collar is caught by the wind
graciously giving me
a glimpse of her bra
& I blush & look away
as the waves continue
to smack
spraying us—daring us
to be thrown
to be swallowed
to be released
in their wild & deep & green
waters that wash our feet
& lick the sky as the rain
begins to fall:
because He sendeth rain
on the Just & the Unjust
that sit on this unsure dock
but still I need to tell her
that she doesn’t need to talk
that we can be silent &
that is OK but instead I listen
to her & the wind & the water
& the nervous & then tell her
that her surety makes me
uneasy because I’m not
sure of anything anymore
–as though the jaded
waves are inside of me
& the waves are wild &
deep & green & the waves
are God & He is raging
a whisper as though to breathe: child
….
