As though shedding an old skin, <br />Fall Creek slips free from fall's weight, <br />clots of leaves blackening snags, <br />back of pool where years ago <br />local lore claims clothes were shed <br />by a man and woman wed <br />less than a month, who let hoe <br />and plow handle slip from hands, <br />left rows half done, crossed dark waves <br />of bottomland to lie on <br />a bed of ferns, make a child, <br />and all the while the woman <br />stretching both arms behind her <br />over the bank, hands swaying <br />wrist-deep in current—perhaps <br />some old wives' tale, water's pulse <br />pulsing what seed might be sown, <br />or just her need to let go <br />the world awhile, let the creek <br />wash away every burden <br />her life had carried so far, <br />open a room for this new <br />becoming as her body <br />flowed around her man like water.<br /><br />Ron Rash<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fall-creek/
