If I Wasn’t

If I Wasn’t

If I Wasn’t 1920 1080 Emma Mary Currans

I swear, if I could run to you,
smiling and shouting, waving both arms and trying
to flag your fading belief down, I would be out there now,
calling across the park, past the swings and through the dewdrops,
and there would be no glass on the ground,
lurking, unseen, jagged amongst the daisies;
no, there could not be, for I would be barefoot
and I’d reach you with a muddied hem and dirty soles
and laugh about it with you
and ask what we’re doing today,
a willing marionette of the morning sunlight.

and the breeze would not snake around my throat
and choke the words out of me before I could whisper a scream
and the storm clouds would not gather
and block out the bright above and around
and the dark river under my feet would not drag my eyes down
and this time, this once, I wouldn’t drown

Header photograph © J. Bish.

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