Art by Emily Bombere
I’ve spent my whole life in the sunrise
over the Mattaponi. She peers over the bank,
blowing kisses and then passes me to the moon,
so he can rock me to sleep. But I never rest.
Because when the sun sleeps, I swim in the river
and dance with the moon in circles to the other side
of my peninsula where the Pamunkey flows. We hide
in the basement roots of trees that grow along the bank
and make playlists of a train’s whistle and the hoots
of an owl symphony in the tall pines. He always says,
“Tell me a story,” and I tell him of the time I ran away.