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