Christopher, After the Explorer
We hover low over the river. His eyes are shining,
wildfire breath coming in gasps. Wildebeests
stampede through the tall grass below us and I pray
to God everything works itself out, one way or another.
His hands are rough like mine and my father’s
before us. He’s fast undoing the knots and then
a dead weight falls away. When I look back
down, all I see are ripples across the surface
of the dark water, the disappearing backs of crocodiles.
Kate Wylie (she/they) is a poetry MFA candidate at Pacific University and 2018 Webster University alum. Wylie reads fiction for The New Southern Fugitives, regularly contributes to the Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome society magazine Loose Connections, and has previously published or forthcoming work in Canary, Sport Literate, The 2River View, Sublunary Review, and Visitant.
