RIVERHOUSE

The sticky-sweet scenes of summer:
Flowers wilt into the ground
drowned from the humidity;
Cicadas sing their buzzing ballad
in harmony with the croaking frogs

My hands dig into yours
pushing the clay of the bank beneath us
Rotting fish clings to the air, our noses
We continue to dig

Cracked orange life jackets
too tight on our budding chests
The jellyfish catch us
by our buckles and straps,
dragging us back to the shore

A magnolia tree gazes at the pursuit:
a chase around the kayaks,
lips salty with brine,
hearts high in our throats

This is far from love
far from touching
far from feeling

A show, some would say

It leaves a rash on my skin
from our roll across the stinging grass
It leaves bites on my legs
from the hungry horseflies

The salamanders see the ruse
the birds spectate overhead,
the crawdads place bets in the creek

The grass crumbles under our weight
as we gorge ourselves on the dew
You eat the brittle blades whole

I throw a match onto the barren field
sucked dry from summer’s passion
You summon the rain
and wash away the scorch marks

​

The scabs run smooth from the rushing rivulets,
there and gone with the flow of the stream,
around the jagged bank
of the riverhouse.