The Spot

 

Leaves crackling on the ground, I followed you

As you led the way through the underbrush,

Heading towards “the sound.”

“Watch your step,”

But you sprinted ahead,

In your boots through the mud,

While my Sperrys cautiously traversed

Through each root and jagged rock.

“Wait up.”

I could hear it, now-- the rush!

“Where are you, slowpoke?”

“Coming,” I caught a glimpse of it.

OW! Thorn! Thorn!

Pushing aside the final tree branches,

There it was--

The beached boulder overlooking

The rushing river rapids.

And there you were,

Standing on the shore, smiling

As a gust of wind tousled your hair.

Philip Thomas Rodolfo Maruri

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All poems are copyrighted 2019 by their respective authors and may not be used elsewhere without their express permission.