Mistryel Walker          Return

Lot's Wife At The Shore
Third Prize Sprint 2004 Poetry Contest

 I begin to wade into love
but the undertow is stronger
than before. I get mid-thigh,
think that I will be washed
away. I brace, anchor my self:
posts, cement pilings,
the dock, dry land, immobile,
catatonic, safe. Beloved,
sit down. Fish a little.
Pour the wine. Sunbathe.
Wake me with a kiss.