Off-trail, I make my way 

to the creek, climbing 

over rocks. Distant, 

there’s the sound 

of kids laughing, 

a mother telling her kids

to be careful. Daily, 

I think about going back:

cargo pants, tie-dye shirts,

searching for crawdads. 

Back then, my body 

was only a body—not 

a war-torn town,

constant battleground. 

This creek was just a creek,

not something I wished 

was deep enough 

to drown me. & how 

does one go back 

to when the world 

was a wonder?

Or, if I can’t go back,

let me turn to a body 

of water,

let me be 

this rippling creek

dappled with sunlight.