I put down the canoe paddle, scoop water
with my hands, and it tastes like warm tea.
The Okefenokee, blackwater swamp,
dark as prehistoric arctic forests,
varied ecosystems at every bend,
rusted remains on the shores
from century-old dredging attempts.
Late autumn brings an end to lush green,
light filters through hanging moss
and trees at a different angle.
The water, dark from peat tannins,
reflects narrow cypress trunks.
Their needles fall all around me,
faint ripples the only sound, even egrets
and kingfishers subdued, the alligators
sluggish in low water levels and scant sunlight.
Stealthy engineers of the wetlands,
the alligators surface and submerge,
sometimes only their eyes visible,
so close I could touch them.
My solitary canoe moves
through the landscape of myth.
Meg Freer grew up in Montana, studied in Minnesota and New Jersey, and now lives in Ontario, where she teaches piano and writes. Her prose pieces and poems have won awards and have been published in journals such as Ruminate, Eastern Iowa Review, Parks and Points, Wanderlust Journal and Rat’s Ass Review. She is co-author of a poetry chapbook, Serve the Sorrowing World with Joy (Woodpecker Lane Press, 2020). She enjoys taking photos and being active outdoors year-round.
Featured image courtesy the poet.
