—I’M NOT TRYING TO BE FUNNY

 

 Troy

 

How do you die

before your fourth birthday,

when there’s cake and candles inside,

balloons everywhere?

 

I used to think water was gentle,

a kind of savior, or Jesus

who keeps his eye out for

the stray duckling.

 

Was he trying to swim

for the first time that morning or

did the dock unexpectedly

jolt beneath him?

 

Who’s to say but God

or that misty universe people

reference when they need to,

requesting thoughts and prayers.

 

I didn’t know the boy,

not even his name,

but I know this lake, it’s

called “Flowing.” I’ll call

 

that kid Troy, think of him when

the water winks at me,

and waves roll out,

one after the other.