Olivia Wilkinson, Sinking

Sinking

Olivia Wilkinson

The river grasps my ankle; I slip, Unwittingly, into its Cream coffee bosom -I drink; I’m a sinking ship.

Under meniscus under sky, Reflecting swirls of clouds; I bob, Silently, like a white-eyed fish the fisherman left behind. There are bigger things to catch And fatter fish to fry.

The current’s drawl Moving seconds into hours Weeps between my fingers and Dangles me closer to its gaping mouth -- An invitation to a gathering of one Among the bodies of many.

Caught in its boggy trawl, Brown mucky tendrils swaddle me; Sunlight seems Centuries-old -A fever dream -- So many colors it Makes me sick.

I’m reeled in by a slimy shore; the air Is trying, Trying, trying, trying -Failing To revive the body I no longer Need.