Black Fish Under Water

The dampness of the rock
that sat underneath my
jean pockets slipped through
to my skin.
I squirmed to get a better feel,
but all hope was lost.
We kicked off our shoes
and dipped them
in the black lake that
would swallow a person whole
if they were to dive in for a swim.
Daddy got out his fishing rod
and I tucked my fingers under my thighs.
When he cast out, Daddy grinned
with the rod that curled
at the tip. And I waved
goodbye for now.
I'd lay my eyes on the ocean sky,
and watched as families of ashen clouds
lope by. I wished
I was floating with those clouds, swimming
happily along with the perfect families.
Instead, I waited for Daddy to come
back to the rock.
But when he showed up,
his rod was broken
and his grin was gone.
Daddy leaned over,
almost grabbing the water
to wet his face as if
the stain of guilt could be washed
away. His reflection froze his eyes
to the stubble on his chin,
that screamed black words in his chest.
He kicked the water
to rid himself, but fell through.
His hands grabbed the air,
begging for the branch of my arms
or a piece of moss
wrapped around my toes.
I laid on the rock
and kept very still, with my
trembling stone fingers gripping each other,
and listened
as he flopped in the water
like a fish on sand.
His cries screetched in my ears
like a swamp gnat.
I relaxed as the air grew quiet,
and let go.