poetry by j matthew waters

waiting to be born

we worked both sides of the stream
looking for deep pools to cast our souls

it was late september and a cool breeze
had gradually reddened your cheeks

we had strolled along for an hour now
stopping on two occasions
enticing brown trout to strike live bait

filtered light shone through a network
of ripened limbs losing their luster
revealing a part of you I had never seen

without saying a word we picked up
our things and moved on empty-handed

over the years the stream had changed
but over my lifetime remained the same

looking back I spotted a young me
pretending to be someone I was not
catching my limit in very short order

little did I know you were always near
guiding me back to this solitary place
years before you were meant to be born

december two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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8 thoughts on “waiting to be born

  1. I’m stunned by this — love it.

  2. I came back to read this again. I love this. Some of it is mysterious to me but that is the allure maybe

  3. the unknown, unnamed unborn… nicely done

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