Afterbirth

An envelope of three keys and one note

to cross the river, once a stream,

once a garter snake, skinny and slithering,

a black ribbon waving in decoration.

Now the Mississippi is flooding,

now our capillary trails underwater,

swept up and tangled in tree branches.

The paper will not find you well,

I know, nothing has ever found you well,

I know, except me. I couldn’t stay

in these banks, I labored for us

but the afterbirth poured out from me,

we are at the mercy of the current,

which you mistake for me, for you,

these three keys and one note,

only driftwood and a plastic cup.