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Writer's picturesawyer kurtenbach

thirteen ways to describe water

one

I sat with my toes just barely breaking the water,

Watching it run freely with a jealously hardly contained.

I wanted to freeze it right where it lay,

And tell it “you’re just like me.”


two

The shallow end of the pool always seemed more inviting.

I often stood at the edge where the tile dipped down into darkness,

Nothing keeping me from the plunge below.


three

She returned with dripping hair and wild eyes.

“Don’t go in the water.”

From then on she stayed inside whenever it rained.

I never asked what she saw in the depths.


four

The priest called the water holy.

I saw it as nothing more

Than 30 pieces of silver.


five

I was always in love with the ocean.

The waves lapped against the beach

And pulled me in by the hair,

Whispering its siren song.


six

I let the water settle gently against my lips,

Pretending they were yours.

I can taste you in the saltwater.


seven

The river talks to me at night sometimes,

When nothing is heard but the water.

I learned that it loves to trick me, lying

And whispering that I’m my mother’s daughter.


eight

Sunlight danced over the water like fairies,

Leaving odd ripples in its wake.

The old willow tree in the back dipped its branches gratefully into the lake to drink,

Creaking as it slowly bent.

Minnows darted through the sand. I could almost hear their giggles

As I sank to the bottom.


nine

Narcissus died in love,

Alone,

And drowned.


ten

Happiness rushed out of her,

Foaming and thundering like a waterfall.

I nearly didn’t have the heart to tell her,

But someone had to take the fall.


eleven

Searing sun beat fast about my shoulders,

Catching the sweat from my forehead with a forked tongue

And beady eyes that struck at my parched throat.

Every ounce of water inside my poor stricken vessel

Seemed to be sucked dry by the shimmering waves of heat.


twelve

She sees sharp teeth in the water. I see home,

Gentle and welcoming. She kneels,

Asking for forgiveness.

The waves are unforgiving.

They never forget.


thirteen

The blade was made of polished seaglass,

Weathered by countless years at sea.

They say if you were nicked,

You could hear the siren’s songs.

I turned to the window,

Clenching my fist as blood ran down my fingers.

The sirens beckoned with sharp claws.

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