PoetryEtc Featured Poet: Liz Kirby

"heavy with their drink"

Down she goes and lets the river in.
The air goes silvery away.

Now I struggle to invent a gesture
that does not point to my empty lap.

She was to have spread her legs for me,
I thought to take my grandson from her.

There is no-one here to notice
the attention, attrition breaks open.

I wear down from the shoulder
crumble over my own shoes.

She went naked into the river, little fish gently sipping
her red issue, nudging back up her thigh to the source.

The water carried away all her skins, washed her
down to the shiny black marrow. I watched her soften

longed to press a hand down through her melting gut
close my fist over the center stone

stared down till I lost her in my own reflection. Mouth against
the skin of the water I whispered 'what's left little maiden?'

Something here forgets me.
I think I need to know what my name is.