NAKED MAN IN THE CHARLES RIVER

THERE IS A NAKED MAN IN THE CHARLES RIVER

POETRY Owen Elphick

and a happy darkness descends upon the city. His backpack lies in the rushes and the water

cups his flesh. Passersby on the trail ask him if it is cold. It is February. The people

on a nearby dock have their phones out. There is a naked man in the Charles River

and the grime of a thousand wrappers dances in his pores. He is not swimming to the other side,

there is no one waiting for him there. Instead, he treads, shoulders rippling. It has been half an hour now,

and his body floats, invisible beneath the water. A river is a kind of body. We all need to be held

by some body. Somebody help. He is calling to a group of teens.

Will you help me? They go to the edge. Please, he begs, please come help me.

Can’t you swim in on your own? they ask. You’re treading water fine. A body goes into a river

and disappears. There is a naked man in the Charles River, and the river will not

give him back. The people on the dock have stopped paying attention. Why

did you go on in the first place? the teens ask. Because I love you, he says.

They draw away, unsettled. There is a naked man in the Charles River and he wants you

to join him. I mean save him. I don’t know. Some people ask to be saved. Most do not.

I have lied to you. It is me on the bank, calling out to him: Why did you go in?

I love you, he tells me. No you don’t, I tell him. I do, I do, he insists. No, I say. Do you want me

to call for help? The shore is right there, you can reach it. He will not swim

to dry land. Some people do not want to come out of the river, do not want the kiss of February

on their skin, would rather soak in decades of pollution. A river is more than just a body. More than a metaphor.

You may think this man is a metaphor, but I am telling you he is not, he is there,

right there in the river, a few yards out from the shore, and he wants me

to save him, and I will not, he says that he loves me, and I cannot

accept it, will not believe in his love. There is a naked man in the Charles River,

and the trees are bare with winter’s end and I am trying to reach across the space between us

without getting wet, without getting hurt. Ambulance lights glimmer in the corner

of my eye, but it is just us now, me and the bone-cold body I will not save, treading

in the depths before me, dark hair melting into his scalp, arms spread wide, rippling

in and out of sight, and now the darkness is complete, and I disappear.