William Meissner

“It's like crawling into a cave
I always knew was there
but never explored.
I remember putting my head
into his salesman's briefcase
when I was young.
This time the bright eye
I entered pulls
away, a helium balloon.

The musty air wheezes, sighs
trapped for years in old motel rooms.
Further down the sound
turns to grey drippings
that fall on my cheeks.

Some boy has been here before.
Burned matches in a corner,
a tennis shoe, unreadable scratchings
on the walls. This is far

enough. Turning to find my way
out, I tiptoe along a narrow black stream
where white hands are rising,
sinking.

I find myself stepping
into the water: like slipping
my small feet into large dark shoes, it is
deeper than I expected. Up
to my knees, my waist,
I see the opening again—
a circle of sky cut with a dull car key,
a blue mouth singing a melody
I know by heart
but have never heard before.

As I go
under, my arms,
thick as my father's,
reach above the surface
then return
to embrace me.”
― William Meissner