Fragment

What the River’s Wife Feels
by Amy Unsworth

Under her feet, the endless mud
the shifting of pebbles, the twig-
half-decayed. The lips of minnows
against her bare calves, the wending
body of a snake, the turtle’s curiosity.

In winter, her lover’s insensible skin,
in summer, his breath rising as morning
mist. Autumn, his chiding for her
steadfastness as the leaves wither
and fall upon her outstretched arms.