Minnows nibble on my toes
as I sit in Clark’s Creek
where it deepens to my waist,
and runs slow a few miles
below the bridge into town.
It is spring, and the trees hang
their new leaves over the creek
like a secret green cave
where all answers are contained.
I am nine years old, and happy.
I know nothing beyond myself.
Catfish hide in the tree’s roots
that uncoil into the creek,
as copperheads and moccasins
slide past unnoticed nearby.
(April 12, 2024)
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