The Joy of Floating
I’m floating in Little Black Creek waters,
spread eagle in the sun.
Set adrift, chest and cheeks burning red.
Ripples reflecting sunlight in geometric shapes,
glittering turquoise diamonds and triangles.
Belly lifting toward surface,
water filling in that empty space
in the hollow of my back.
Pushing me up toward the
circling dragonfly with a neon blue tail
and silver-veined wings,
that contemplates landing on my stomach,
covered in hot pink and black burn-out roses.
The wind stirs the late summer tree line,
like a lazy bobcat dragging its paws through the
gold, rust, and burnt orange jewel-toned leaves,
pine needles and prickly sweet gum balls.
Momentarily still, the gentle current
serpentines around my curves,
as if navigating an outcrop of rocks.
I’ve gone too far,
floated out beyond the red ball buoys.
Lacey grass from the sandy bottom reaches upward,
wrapping around my ankles, threatening to
trap me once again in the thermocline middle,
where I’ve trod for so many years.
Nothing can stop my desire to glide along the glassy surface,
stay afloat in the giant blue-green levied bowl,
drift away, and moor in the unknown,
underneath a crush of early evening stars.
F.D. Jackson lives in the southeastern U.S., along with her husband and sundry furry family members. She writes about loss/grief and the restorative and transformative power of nature. Her work has appeared in FERAL, Book of Matches, Cosmic Daffodil, and Poetry Breakfast. She has work forthcoming in Green Ink Poetry, San Antonio Review, and Wild Roof Journal.
Amethyst Review 