Being a Pond
By Wren Tuatha
distance gives
the illusion
of a meditative
stillness
the pond
itself
knows better
a middle child
moves
to feel the mud
grow tacky
then gelatinous
at the edge
under a breakable
membrane
is a city of beings
that fly and float
dip and drift
and nibble
the child
launches
her mind
below
to follow a bluegill
to murky avenues
nothing that breathes the pond
can survive the plenum
of air and dust
beyond
the membrane
all above below
and between
depend on the pond
being a pond
the child remembers
a fairy tale
considers
growing gills
chills
at the thought
of choosing