How deep the river

Written a few months ago…

she thought to take a trip
to taste the flavour on her lover’s tongue
as he fell towards his final resting place
to see if she could see what he saw
before the last breath slid from his lips

she thought to take a trip
to visit his unreal reality
thinking there must be a reason
for his hedonistic sprint to the grave
a treat which innured him to the risk
finally made real by the flick of a switch
as his mother kissed his chilling brow

she thought to take a trip
a little sip of the thrill of addiction,
she figured his death made him
more interesting – had given him
the attention she was lacking

she thought to take a trip
even as his mother with quiet dignity
arranged his funeral
even as her own tears welled
and dripped unchecked

she thought to take a trip
thinking his life had been simple in its way,
until misfortune had finished him
and she was thinking only
to take a quick dip into his habit
to feel the shape of it

she thought to take a trip
not thinking how easily the boat sinks
how deep the river
or how hard to
swim back
to the surface

©Jane Paterson Basil