Crouching by the stream
It whispers the names of drowned children
A list as long as the stream itself
The names are lures
Their hair swirls over their faces, their pink mouths open
The drowned are perfect swimmers
It uncorks a bottle
The children climb in, pressing their small fingers
Against the glass
I scream and scream
The bottle shatters and out they spill, limbs tangled
Its canines flash
Katie was five years old
The real estate agent smiled, telling us the house
Would be perfect for children
Katie liked to explore
The day we moved in she found a robin’s egg and announced
Blue was her new favorite color
At sunset I return
Clutching the pair of baby blue pajamas
She never had the chance to wear
I undo each button
Before I plunge my head underwater to mouth
Katie, Katie, Katie…
