THE CREEK

I suppose I’ve always known
there was a poem
a place to tell the names of things
the way the shapes of things fit in
I knew that well
there was a word
a place to start
a digging in
this piece of earth
the crust
my toes
a sinking in
the feel of my feet beneath
the surface cutting
peering in
the rim, my seam
we used to sit beside this creek
the gentle giving in
my mouth
of words we once so eloquently spoke
before the sandy, naked grit
of things.


Poem and image by Sarah Rehfeldt. Please do not copy without my permission.
Published in Magnapoets, Issue 7 (January 2011).