The Murky Slipper

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett  

Is where the creek idles,

thick with rot — carefully

shuffle across or end up

soaked and bruised. Of

course, the waterfall is

just after. But that's all

upstream from where

you now pause, jeans

rolled up, to let water

flow between calves

toward further falls or

eddies where crawfish

lift heavy claws — still,

you can't rest long here

in the middle of your life,

such green light streaming

down through the trees.


about the author