Water's Drop

It is now my time to wander

My fingertips traveling the wooden rail cracked open like a wound

leaving hollows for the brushing sounds to entice the famined fish

Lingering, my body pressed against my only barrier to the steep drop

I remember the salivating of slimy earth beneath me as I tumbled below

The taste of the algae and the mud once again found

me, a friend that didn’t know I had grown lungs long ago, finding

the earth a more pleasant territory to wander

Adolescence had ripped me to the surface, bellowing

and gasping with breaths that coiled and wound

around my own neck like a chain of mistakes and dropped

me, Only then I learned what it meant for my dad to take me fishing

I learned that it only takes two strong hands and a bundle of excuses to be selfish

My fingers press into the cracks as I remember those who are waiting to be found

Under the surface they hover in beams of light and wait for raindrops

Little do the creatures know that soon will come a wanderer

Someone like me, but with weights in his pockets and fishing lure wounds

up to his elbows. And as I suspected just as it is above, it is down belowground

My legs swing themselves over the barrier toward the bellowing

of the wind’s wide mouth that swallows the shaking pond, spitting back all of the fish

I am not the same girl as the day that the wire wound

It’s way into my stomach but fishermen are not what I came here to find

Where have I forgotten the traces of my childhood wanderings?

What use is a ghostless house void of fairies leaving dew droplets

on the front lawn? My mind has depths that even I dare not to drop

into. Land is safer for a reason, a haven for the bellowing

ground that is the deep. It is best to keep the wanderlust

at bay. Just ask the fish or the fishermen

for that matter. If you delve deep enough you may find

that the secrets that you hid from yourself are only your own wounds

I was too young when, from this wonderland I unwound,

feigning hydrophobia aside from the odd teardrop

My old world had missed me but I didn’t want to be found

Only now do I listen to the voice coming faintly from below

I lean into the dusky air and finally fishtail

Hands stretched out and aching for water wandering

.

Finding the water again, it broke like the wounds

of the wanderer’s hands and my lungs felt hydropic

Breathless in the great below of the endless fishpond