River in my Backyard

by Audrey Molnar '19

If my plunged

fist released the oval pebble

it would sink.

But it didn’t.

I still feel it in

my rounded palm.

Water spilled between

my fingers, my jeans soaked

with the tilt

of my wrist.

It could have found rest.

But it didn’t.

Beside the rusted

harmonica, the gold ring, plastic.

My hand a

pillow. The delta

a funnel for what my

palm couldn’t hold.

I still feel

it in my rounded palm

like melting ice.