The Ferryman

I am trying to get my feet underneath me

Where I can tie them into a knot,

Rubber ankles bending like Jell-o

In between my fingers coated in sand.

Sand from the beaches of lakes shouldn't

Fall into the soup of my bones, should they?

I think it's supposed to stay under the

Cold, clear glacier waters where it can kill

All but the stones and the shorebirds.

.

You could drown out in those waters.

Ripped out past the sandbars into the purple

Waves slamming against the side of some

No-name, bad luck boat that has too many

Holes in it to be considered anything but

A near tragedy, an eager little disaster.

Everyone I ever loved swayed on deck,

Wondering with thought-bubble ideas

If it was okay to just let me drown.

.

I wasn't sure what kind of answer I wanted

To hear pour out of their mouth on the wind

So I let waters, crisp and fresh and cool,

Suck me to the depths of their stomachs,

Let them gnaw on my candied cartilage.

If there was more to me, I must've left it on the

Glittering glass surface of the lakes as a token

To the Ferryman and the hunting birds

So that I can tuck into the sand and go to sleep.