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Palm Springs Pool

We are not the only lovers at the hotel pool

but are certainly carried by the saddest current.

Dragged slowly by my ankles through the water,

I tip back into lightness of body.

The goodness of my life has been ruptured.

What remains after rupture is not yet clear.

My mother cleaved has left less of me,

of only that I am sure

We go up the mountain to see the city

as she saw it mere months before

lizards scuttle on bleached boulders

under a distinctly violet skyline.

On the tramcar down, everyone sings along

to Sweet Caroline, even me.

I hold her in the moment as a red-tailed hawk

swoops below, wide winged flare

I see the beauty and the beauty cannot take me


Ashley Wilkinson, woman with short
brown hair, in front of a green field.

Ashley Wilkinson is a writer and artist based in Madison, Wisconsin. Her work has been published in Blue Earth Review, Entropy Mag, Vassar Review, and elsewhere.