Desire Drowning
By Danielle Vanpoucke
I consider them
Find a flat one
she says
throw the flatness
against the horizon of the river
Pick it up, she whispers, sounding grim
I listen, look up
to the wooden swing and the hanging rope
that carries bodies into the water
I crouch, throw it
parallel to the gently streaming water
The rainbow-white stone
becoming part of the current
for a short, short moment
It sinks only a few feet from
the riverbed
Too close to me
To the wet pebbled boundary
I know I should dive
Should not hesitate
Not stretch out the in ev i ta bil i ty
of becoming heavy with wetness
But I am afraid
I breathe
I
hold
it
I jump in
Not in a cannonball, but some clumsy, unsure
Spead out
Thing
I sink, heavier than ever
Water pressuring my lungs
as I breathe it in
Throw my hands down and out
at the mud and pebbles
r o u n
a me d
under
I desperately grab handfuls
Make a vessel out of the fabric
of my shirt, clutching it from the bottom
Holding it up to my heart
I swim against the pressure
Breach the surface, it
doesn’t feel like I'm breathing
But I ignore that, ignore the coldness
sticking and wetness that doesn’t dry
away in the summer sun and ignore
the way my chest no longer raises
At the house, someone’s house,
my grandpa’s or aunt’s or great aunt’s or cousin’s
I spread out the river floor that I collected
Consider the colors
The pebbles are brown and gray
Small enough to nearly be sand
Nothing like the rainbow-white
That I threw away
The pebbles chant in a heavy whisper, saying
They're
Dead
Dull
Nothing
That they’re tired of sinking
That they’re pieces of me
I sweep the pebbles off the table
in a violent rush of rejection
I fall
Sink
to my knees
the river still drowning this lifeless body
I am at the bottom
of the
River
I never left
I never breathed
In
Out
In
Out
Again