– Poetry by Jim Richards –
He fell from fatherhood, and said the fall
was slow, like water through wood.
He said he didn’t know. That’s all.
And then the undertow of life swept
his feet. The wash of salt and foam,
the steady crash brought things ashore:
his wallet, a little cash, a picture
of the dog. One shoe then the other,
filled with seaweed. His body never rose.
His name? I don’t know his name.
Call him you. Call him me. All I know
is that he fell, and he said the fall was slow.
About the Author – Jim Richards
Jim Richards has taught literature and creative writing since completing a PhD at the University of Houston in 2003. His poetry, prose, and photography have appeared recently in Poetry Northwest, Copper Nickle, Sugar House Review, Prairie Schooner, Southern Poetry Review, Juked, and Inklette. He has received nominations for Best New Poets, two Pushcart Prizes, and was granted a fellowship from the Idaho Arts Commission. He lives in eastern Idaho’s Snake River valley.
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