high banks, high water
storm coming on
current dragged her under
more times than she could count
losing count of breaths she thought
of air turned brown
water
burning
lungs
shopping
cart
floating by
ripped her thigh
blood poured into water poured
into wounds
all over
that body
pulled over
that bank
(concrete slabs and rusted wire)
she lay
nursing bruises and blood
the flood
at last receded
but
even now
when she has told the story more times than she can count,
losing count of all the ways she’s made a joke of it,
even now
when rain comes,
even the springtime kind she used to love,
lungs and eyes and thigh burn;
memory you drown in
like
high water.
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