Being a Pond

By Wren Tuatha

distance gives
the illusion
of a meditative
stillness

the pond
itself
knows better

a middle child
moves
to feel the mud
grow tacky
then gelatinous
at the edge

under a breakable
membrane
is a city of beings
that fly and float
dip and drift

and nibble

the child
launches
her mind
below
to follow a bluegill
to murky avenues

nothing that breathes the pond
can survive the plenum
of air and dust
beyond
the membrane

all above below
and between
depend on the pond
being a pond

the child remembers
a fairy tale
considers
growing gills

chills
at the thought
of choosing