Academic journal article Hecate

The Waterline

Academic journal article Hecate

The Waterline

Article excerpt

I have waded all these years through a long trough of depressioi

Most days, it was like trying to walk through custard,

Or mud. It seemed normal at the time.

all I owned was a small boat. It wasn't romantic:

Ants nested in her timbers,

She leaked when it rained, wetting my pillow,

The water widdling its way

To books and clothes and food.

At night I watched the river snatching at the moon's reflection;

She wavered, but stayed obstinate in her track.

In the mornings the catfish waited under the boat:

I threw them dog-food, big enough for their wide whiskered mouths

To find in the milky tea-water

That boiled with their hunger.

Their milky eyes seemed to mirror

The river's acceptance of its course

Deep in the trough of its muddy bed,

Dragged in and out by the moon

Twice a day, with the tides.

It was here that the moon dragged the last blood

She would get out of me.

Down in the boat's tiny cabin

My bed, below the waterline,

held my sleep for several seasons. …

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