downriver

by Cynthia Pitman

Thickets of palmetto trees

clench the riverbanks.

Water oaks rise,

dripping tangled curls

of Spanish moss.

My oars cut the water

as if it were sweet syrup.

Barely a sound – just a quiet splash

as each oar dips in then emerges

from the dark depths.

The canoe moves slowly,

sliding smoothly downriver.

Waiting somewhere there

is the respite I seek

from the metal and mortar

and crowds and heat

that surround me daily

as I pretend to live my concrete life.

All of its hard solidity

pinches me in on myself,

squeezing my breath from me

as I sweat away any hope of peace.

Only downriver will I find

cool water that reflects

with clarity the greenery

that embraces me.

When I arrive there and breathe air

that is fresh and free,

newborn life will stir again within.

Cynthia Pitman, author of The White Room, Blood Orange, and Breathe (Kelsay Books), has been published in Bright Flash, Amethyst, Ekphrastic, Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem finalist), Saw Palm (Pushcart Prize nominee), and others, and in anthologies Pain and Renewal, Brought to Sight & Swept Away, Nothing Divine Dies, and What is All This Sweet Work?