CONFABULATION
We were all there, or none of us were.
The ice was frozen through. I skated across
like a small car. You in a green coat. The ice
wasn’t frozen through. My legs pushed
into it like broken glass. Silver shards and a spill
of arms and water.
It’s possible I never
made it out. I swam to the bottom of the river,
unbothered by the cold and made a home there.
I am quite happy. Sometimes boaters drop coins
to the bottom by accident. Or keys. I have no use
for these things down here but they catch
the sunbeams. It lights me up like a golden prayer.
Brett Elizabeth Jenkins lives and writes in St. Paul. She is the author of the chapbook OH NO EVERYTHING (Pockets Press 2016). Look for her work in Beloit Poetry Journal, PANK, Linebreak, Drunken Boat, Painted Bride Quarterly, and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter @fartmaster5000.