Driftwood
TAK Erzinger
(originally featured
in issue xxii.i- Spring)
Child, you recall them
your hands in theirs.
You recall, feeling so small
an island between an ocean.
You recall toes in sand, sunshine,
salt and waves of sound –
dialects conjoined. Back then
you could comprehend it all.
Child, like a bright balloon,
high as could be, they pulled
away from you. Your hair,
a knotted net, caught
what was unearthed in the tide.
Child, you recall how they
floated away one by one
after that season by the sea and
it was then, you learned to swim.
Child, you recall wondering
how they could leave,
imprints of touch that
never returned, bruises
covered a waterlogged soul.
You recall a crowded memory,
an empty house void of sound
dust particles navigating
between streams of light,
they told you they’d be there.
You returned time and again
straining to reach for something
to hold on to. You returned on instinct
because it was all you knew.
A drift, you let the wind
take control, holding fast to the current,
letting the water wash you free.
TAK Erzinger is an American/Swiss poet and artist with a Colombian background. Her poetry has been featured in Bien Acompañada from Cornell University, The Muse from McMaster University, River and South Review, The Welter and more. Her debut chapbook entitled, “Found: Between the Trees” was published by Grey Border Books, Canada 2019. Erzinger’s most recent poetry collection “At the Foot of the Mountain,” Floricanto Press, California 2021, has been announced by the University of Indianapolis, Etchings Press as the Whirling Prize winner for 2021 for best nature poetry book. She lives in a Swiss valley with her husband and cats.