April Snow

This is the walk she knows they will never take:

down the jealous sidewalk

where every step’s a stumble,

across volcano train tracks

sleepy in sunlight and screeching at the moon,

toward the glassy freshwater air

and the green that spills

down into skirted diamond current

where she kicks off her shoes

without thought,

half drowned in her mind slipping

with him off the bank, buoyant,

free and fluid-limbed,

creatures the likes of which the river has never seen,

as if there were no such thing as fish.

edited 8 June 2020

9 April 2016

Published by Cecilia Gigliotti

Cecilia Gigliotti is a freelance writer/editor/musician/podcaster based in Berlin with a beloved ukulele named Uke Skywalker. Her free time goes toward dancing, reading books new and old, drawing cartoons, trying to finish her Netflix queue, and devoting too much thought to the foibles of her artist-heroes. Connect with her on Twitter (@CeciliaGelato) and Instagram (@c_m_giglio).

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