I kneel on the rocky shore of the river searching for myself.
My image reflects off the shiny water.
The glimmer of a familiar face in a tough time.
But then, the wind picks up, ripples the waves,
Splays my long hair into gray tendrils.
In the riffle, one eye opens, one eye closes.
My smile twists into a frown, lying aslant on strokes of waves.
The sun pierces the water right between my eyes,
Splitting my face into pieces. The bright shards scatter.
In shock, I reach for myself and she me.
Our embrace overcomes and pulls us down, down.
Into the undercurrent, we tumble like socks in a dryer.
One lost, one found.
Barbara Harris Leonhard is a writer, poet, and blogger. Her work appears in Phoebe, MD: Medicine and Poetry, Well Versed 2020, Spillwords; FREE VERSE REVOLUTION; Heretics, Lovers and Madmen; Go Dog Go Café; Silver Birch Press; Amethyst Review; Pillbaby.com; and Vita Brevis. She is the author of Discoveries in Academic Writing, which is based on her years of teaching English as a Second Language at the University of Missouri.