there was not a cloud in the sky
I’m not sure but it felt like Saturday—

the kind of day when wax wings
could carry you to the sun and back.

Earlier I collected stones, careful to keep
track of the wind as it picked up

from the north. All I remember
is trying to swim in a straight line

to the grey shoreline-- then thunder rolled
in and a dark-haired girl sang me to sleep.

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Note: "The day I drowned in the Housatonic River" is a poem after Suzanne Frischkorn.
 

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Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis.
 

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