National Poetry Month
Ghost, River, Shiver, Gaze, Wicked, Cold
Someone stood by the river,
I was glad I wasn’t going to be the only one,
I was to come with my grandfather,
But he had been unwell.
I greeted the man,
He only nodded in response,
I gazed at him but he seemed oblivious to my scrutiny,
He was busy with his net,
A cold wave of unease washed through me.
As I pushed my boat to the river,
Suddenly the man offered me his net,
I shook my head,
His hand was still insistently stretched toward me,
I looked into his eyes and saw a glimmer of kindness,
I shivered as I took the net,
I silently prayed that the spirits of my ancestors guide me.
I thrust my boat further into the river and paddled to the centre,
I looked in the direction of the man,
He waved at me,
I cast the net into the water
And noticed a continuous ripple on the surface,
I tried to pull out the net and noticed it was heavy,
I summoned the strength of the spirits,
The catch was sudden and massive,
I glanced toward the direction where the stranger had been,
He was no longer there,
“He wasn’t a wicked ghost after all,” I thought with a smile,
April 14, 2025.
Copyright ©
Thompson Emate
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