Stepping Stone in Ramapoo Creek

March 5, 2009
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The left foot upon my head is in a muddy, size 4 Disney Princess sneaker
and its step is light, barely pushing me deeper into the creek
and followed quickly by a right foot to rest upon my side for a moment and then hop along.
Days, weeks, years, decades.
They all flit up and over me as the creek cloaks me in her compost.
That I were larger and less vulnerable to her waves,
that I might stand for a century yet to ferry fairies across this creek,
but I feel my weight already shift and I brace myself for that
terrifying, liberating day
when I shall be lifted by a hand far stronger than my own
and dragged to a new bend of the same creek.





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