Stones in the River

Just when I think I let you disappear
as if you were a river-worn stone
slipping from my palms to the indulgent
mud-ripe river bottom–
You show up in my Google Drive

And it’s just a poem of yours
I certainly know
But it makes me remember
when you were wild with love
for me, and
I for you–:
I breathe in so harshly
I can feel it in the soles
of my feet
I think as I exhale
you’ll magically leave my pores,
my computer,
my memories

But I think having your once-burning
thoughts alive
when I read them three years later
is a constant reminder
that I, now, can only love myself
Or perhaps, that I will
never be able to love again
Or perhaps, that you will stay fresh
in my mind
for months to come

I’m not sure which,
or if any for that matter
But once you love what you’ve always
what is there left to seek?
Sometimes, I find myself
drawn to the river
I can’t help but press my feet
into her soft banks
and stare at the bridge
that makes New Jersey and Pennsylvania
I drop weathered stones
and watch them plunge to the
mucky, brackish,
soft and limitless bottom

I wonder
where they go
when their
smooth bodies
make it so easy
to slip away


About laurenfedorko

Aspiring writer. English teacher. Philosophy: know more about the world than you did yesterday and lessen the suffering of others.
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