I waited by the river
he never came
my hand feels naked
the edge of that word 
the word cannot be contained or named or straightened
the word cannot be owned by any human
nor holy book
the dove at sea, her longer flight
holds me aloft, my mouth cannot say 
what every cell of my body speaks
looking into another’s face
creation and destruction change places 
in the blink of an eye

Meredith Stricker | if I Get Lost >>
Contents | Mudlark No. 54  (2014)