This is a poem that I wrote a while ago, but am revisiting now as my final poetry portfolio is due soon. I’ve done some editing, and received some help along the way as well.
Through and Through
A boy in cotton socks stands in the creek bed
throwing round rocks upstream.
Later he tells his friends his father taught him
to skip stones.
A married woman keeps a brita filter
in her sock drawer, but fills her husband’s glass
from the leak beneath the kitchen sink.
Contact between windshield and bald-capped bird
sends fissures spiderwebbing through glass,
feathers streaming in rear windows.
Pigtailed little girl dunks her sour gummy worm head
first into the pond, sugar dissolving amidst duck fluff.
Kudzu swallows an acre of land in six months
rain-hungry in shadow.
The jacketed trees die standing up, still green.
I have been told that drowning only hurts
until you are water through and through.