The day the witch turned you into a waterfall,
You rushed along,
Crashing and steaming into mist.
I tried to collect you in a pail,
But you knocked it from my hands,
And I ran away.
Mother told me I should give up
As you descended in screams
And hisses
And plunks,
Miles away.
But when all of you had fallen,
Shattering the spell with your final drop,
You returned.
Not man or waterfall,
But trembling lake.
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Michelle Koubek is a poet with two collections: The Troll Who Holds Up the Sky and 75 Years: A Woman’s Life in Verse. To learn more about her work, visit her website at https://www.michellekoubek.com. | |