At the Falls

A Montana poem

Yaak Falls. From Yaak Valley Forest Council.

I’ve been posting a lot of career-related interviews lately, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning with a discussion thread about the current jobs outlook. But today I thought I’d share another poem. Thanks to Dru Wall for selecting this one for Natural Bridge, where it appeared in slightly different form in Fall 2011.

Also, a final reminder that our first book club will meet tonight from 7:30-9:00 p.m., EST. We’ll talk about Julie Schumacher’s Dear Committee Members and anything else that comes up. Even if you have never been an academic, I hope you’ll join us! Please use this link to join the conversation. Passcode is DxB3u8.

At the Falls

Toes curled over the lip of rock,

it’s some thirty feet down

to the thundering foam, too far

to hazard a dive, so you wait a while,

studying the shimmer and thrust of the water.

When you leap, as you must,

thrill of speed, dream of flight —

the pool is a body

straining to meet yours.

Then the sweet shock on your toes,

soft sheath of water pushing back.

The current roars overhead, and soon

you are swept away and must swim

through the froth to the rocky cove,

where you climb back to the ledge,

ears ringing, burn of the fall all over your skin.

There is the pool below, all billows and spray.

Here is your heart pounding like a private cascade,

your body throwing itself again into the mist of the river,

arms wide, legs like a timber wedge.

Between is the water rising

as if it knows desire.