Spring Peepers
Who are they calling out to?
Their voices bounced back
and forth amongst the birches.
The swampy water
sucked my feet
into a silty stew.
I waded through the water
waiting to hear their chanting cease.
The end was near
but not near enough
and with each muddy,
sloppy step I grew tired.
Everything spinning,
churning around me,
sending me into a silt-laden
crescendo.
The bark of the birches
slipped though my grasp
and spat splinters into my palms.
The blood mixed with the silt
and the water
and the chanting
until everything bled into another
and all I could bear to do was let my tongue
unfurl and howl into the obsidian night.
The menagerie of our blending
ended when my knees buckled
into the water
and the silt rose
and consumed me.
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About the Creator
Melynie Ferrari
I'm an avid reader and writer. I enjoy writing poetry about the natural world.
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