The Pond
       

Small places burst with love for you. My hand is an oar.
An eardrum expanding. A ribbon pulled across the wrist.
You hear bells ringing in another country, a sound
that echoes only in your head. Let me tell you how the bells
began to colonize even me. Let me tell you about the betrayal
of my organs. For the first time I knew why you wanted
out of this world. The way home was through your undoing.
For days you circled the pond, such a careful plotting.
I could only watch, finger the purple valance. And later,
I confess: I saw you walk into the pond, straight down
and into it, that terrible blue mouth. Who was I to prevent
your sinking, to call out, when nothing in this world deserved
you? Your floating hat gives you up, the housekeeper rushing
to pull you back. My reckless emissary, my drowning fox—
you come back to me muted and heavy.

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Copyright © 2013 Caitlin Bailey All rights reserved
from Hayden's Ferry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission