by Melody Wilson
We have driven east this bright afternoon,
the two of us, young parents on a break from
entropy. I am drowning in something I can’t
define and the day reels out like un-spliced frames
of someone else’s life. We park the car and skirt past
other people’s happiness, past picnic tables and barbecues.
You take my hand and we climb to the falls. The noise
of life filters up: laughter, singing. I am relieved
when the roar of water engulfs the din. I taste the
mist on my anesthetized skin, inhale the green power
of the fall, but do not jump. Something slippery creeps
up by spine, maybe vertigo, maybe hope.
Melody Wilson writes and teaches in Portland, Oregon. Recent work appears in Quartet, Briar Cliff Review, Amsterdam Quarterly, The Shore, and Timerline Review. Upcoming work will be in Tar River Poetry, Whale Road Review, and SWWIM. She has recently been awarded the 2021 Kay Snow Poetry Award and is Honorable Mention for the 2021 Oberon Poetry Award.
Cover Design by Karen Rile