Sharks in the Rivers

by Ada Limon

say something to God, but he’s not a living thing, so I say it to the river, I say, I want to walk through this doorway but without all those ghosts on the edge, I want them to stay here. I want them to go on without me. I want them to burn in the water.

Maybe my limbs are made mostly for decoration— the way I feel about persimmons. You can’t really eat them. Or you wouldn’t want to.

I remember thinking this was what life was, and what I had always wanted: being pressed on a warm, flat rock, our wet imprint there as if it would matter, I am holding on. I am holding on.