Far enough from the dock I used to tilt my head back and up to the clouds then inhale all the way in and hold it and close my eyes and let each foot become a cement block and fall into a well I wasn’t sure was there until I could feel ache in my chest like the sky at night when there’s no moon and something would quaver under my skin and then I’d exhale. I’d chase that bubbled impermanence to the surface, reaching for that gurgled current of summer air I’d brought to the brink, air I’d baptized, I’d energized.
Kevin Griffin is an English and Creative Writing teacher at Detroit Catholic Central High School. He lives in Plymouth, Michigan, with his wife and sons. His first chapbook,Line and Hook,was published by the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press. His second chapbook, Note the Tone,was published by Celery City Books. His poetry has appeared inThe Broad River Review, Up North Lit, Sheepshead Review, Common Ground Review, The MacGuffin,andSand Hills Literary Magazine,among other publications.