Drowning
To drown is to fall
beneath the surface.
To linger below
in the silence
with the mud anchored weeds
floating aloft from their roots.
Do you too long to lie face down? Floating.
Eyeing the small fish
that drift in and out of the rushes.
This pond
where the horses stand in
the hottest part of summer evenings
as they wait for the dusk and
the waning of the heat.
They come
one after another,
head to tail,
down the single track
to bath their feet
in the cooling mud.
We sit on the screen porch and watch the trucks.
Headlights swinging down the graveled country road,
away from the pond,
the horses, and
the way the breeze sighs at the sunset.
Published on the Laundry Line, 11 November, 2025.
