Artwork: Fleeting as the Dream of Honey by Bill Wolak

Whirlpool
Michael Roque

                                                 Down a steep skidding path,
                               past smoking redwoods
                and an anguished face,
           through toe stubbing stones—
a shore that saves,
a rolling river—
a current promising deliverance,
new scenery—
but too late.

Down into the roar of a whirlpool,
     people drown—
        but not without a twist.
           Muscle free?
              Dog paddle against a rushing current within?
                No use,
                   caught by carouseling flashes
                      eyes can’t resist.

                                                  In a spin cycle of scenes—
                                          rafts and fish flow
                                     freely ahead on the river’s roll,
                                the suffocating stench
                            of redwood smoke,
                         the sharp pain,        
                     looking at toe stubbing stones,
                 the echoes pouring
             out of anguished faces,
          hound the dizzy drowner—
   failing to float.

Spin speed increases,
sucking the dog paddler down
beneath the swirl.
With water-filled lungs,
rafts and fish
now flow from above.
Burning redwoods
melt into the anguished faces.
Stones and the shore that saves
become one.

In a rotation of misplaced sensations,
a thousand sights and sounds,
thoughts and questions
become contorted,
and clarity’s overrun—
except for the truth
of a drowner—
done.

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