We walk into the marsh
at golden hour. My husband
pulls me back
from the reeds.
At golden hour, my husband
anticipates the dark coming
to the reeds
and waterways around us.
The coming dark anticipates
everything: shadows stretch
over the waterways around us.
A birdcall I can’t place echoes
over the stretched shadows.
What was the shape of the tail?
I can’t place the birdcall or echoes
in the swaying grass.
What is the shape of the tail
end of day? A crescent moon
over the swaying grass
sets on the horizon.
End the day with a moon crescent
between your teeth.
Set the horizon
down.
Between your teeth,
pull me back
down
into the marsh walk.
Emily Hockaday (she/her) is the author of Naming the Ghost (Cornerstone Press 2022) and the forthcoming In a Body (Harbor Editions 2023). She lives in Queens where she writes about city ecology, parenthood, chronic illness, science, and general existential angst. She can be found at www.emilyhockaday.com or tweeting @E_Hockaday.
Banner image courtesy Emily Hockaday.
