McCorkle’s Rock
You lead me through the field,
the dark green grass tall as my
shoulder, heads heavy with seeds.
We found an old trail that led to the creek,
up and over and down to a large rock
where you set down your camera. I
removed my clothes and waded into
the water. Behind me I heard click,
crank. Click, crank. I did not know
that there was a path on the other side
of the creek. I did not know that
somebody could walk along
and see me standing there. I did
not see anything.
*
Christine Yurick is the founding editor of Think Journal. Her poems have appeared in E-Verse, Angle, American Arts Quarterly, Tulane Review, and 823 on High, among other journals. Her chapbook At the End of the Day and other poems is available from Kelsay Books
