by Melissa M. Frye

Swathed in the ribbon-like body 
of the White River, my hard edges 
erode; their silty remnants 
disperse on the current 
while deeper water 
bores out biting shame. 
The empty chasm of me
fills not with water, 
but an essence that cures
the incurable and instills hope. 
As I break the surface, the heavens 
do not open, God’s spirit 
does not descend like a dove, 
no voice calls me beloved. 
But the unseen hand holding mine 
guides me as certainly as the river 
breaks around my waist. 

Northwest Arkansas native, Melissa M. Frye, is an award-winning poet whose work is forthcoming in the Mid/South Anthology from Belle Point Press. She’s a self-proclaimed genealogy geek who adores Dean Martin and dislikes squirrels. 

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