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CONVERSATION WITH THE BOY III
CONVERSATION WITH THE BOY III
The boy stands ankle deep in water
Arms at his side
Not crossed in defiance or
Akimbo in mock entitlement
But limp at his side, dead
I stand by his shoes on the shore
Waiting for him to say something
Acknowledge me
I have been waiting a long time
The lake is dark glass
The water unmoved by
Breath or heartbeat
As dead as any living thing can be
You’re not saying anything, I admonish
Pushing for a reaction
The water reflects my voice
Making it thin
Why is that?, I ask
Another wrong question
I don’t want to be here, he says
And yet here you are, I reply
As are you, the boy retorts
Not turning
I know what you want
My voice is soft, almost hoarse
I want to swim, he admits
His voice softer still
But I don’t know how
Maybe you do, I smile
Giving my voice a hope
I do not feel
He looks over his shoulder at me
Eyes narrowed in derision
Then turns back to the lake
And spits
Ripples riding out from the impact
Dark moving things
Capped with light
Take your shoes off, he says
Turning away
Depriving me of his eyes
Stand next to me
The water is cold, I say
My voice is flat and small
The ripples from the boy’s
Angry expectoration
Barely disturb the shore
Can we go back now?
His voice is softer than breath
Cold as the stony shore
We never left, I reply
Softer still
And bend to untie my shoes
- joshua mertz's Shared Poems
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