AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RIVER

 Megan Thompson

At the bottom of the river 
there lies a lonely rock.

It longs to speak and prattle
to all the other rocks and pebbles.

They lie silent in a pile,
at the bottom of the river.

The babble of the brook above 
calls the animals to drink.

The lonely rock awaits the chatter 
of the predators and prey.

The bears, the otters, the deer alike
all come to gossip in the summer light.

The rock longs to see the animals above,
it strains for a glimpse through the ripples.

The animals stare into the water as they drink,
but they cannot see the bottom of the river.

As the sun sets on the wild domain,
the animals return to their caves, burrows, and fallen trees.

The lonely rock will be silent for another night,
falling into the staccato clack of the pebbles nearby,

and the rush of water will scrape it along
to a new spot at the bottom of the river.