At the Falls

A Montana poem

Yaak Falls. From Yaak Valley Forest Council.

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 blue-green 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.
 

“At the Falls” first appeared in Natural Bridge and is included in my collection Someday Johnson Creek.