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This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine. Saddle-stitched issues are no longer printed, but you can requesting it “re-released” through amazon sale as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.

Salt

Kenneth W. Anderson, Jr.

The sun has yet to hit my face and
it’s wet and cold.
I’m waist high in the
middle of the river
with my rod and reel tight in hand.
I open my mouth and try to
swallow my breath,
ignoring the pain of flesh
pressed against the ice.

On a rocky place sits a blue heron,
stone still,
dividing the wind.
She glances at my old feathered cap, and
shakes her tail before quietly gliding down
away and out of sight.

My eyes fall below
the hunter’s empty perch and
see what was lost:
a little rise, water twirling and stirring
churning green, blue and white.

I try to move
but my feet sink deeper,
stuck in silt.
And between pounding beats,
I vainly look again,
knowing she’s already gone –
beyond my thinning reach.

My thoughts follow her wake,
little circles
slowly growing larger,
pushing out a little further,
but soon they too all die
along the sandy bank.

I bend down and try to touch her face,
my fingers trailing in her tears, and
as I turn to leave
I touch my lips
and taste the bitter salt.

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