Whirlpool
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 carouselling 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.
Michael Roque - Born and raised in Los Angeles, Michael Roque discovered his love for poetry and prose amid friends on the bleachers of Pasadena City College. Now he currently lives outside of the US and is being inspired by the world around him. His poems have been published by literary Magazines like Aurora Quarterly, Veridian Review, and CascadeJournal.
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