Estuary Arguments
August 2, 2025
Photo © copyright by Nathan Larson.
Estuary Arguments
The river drags its childhood with it.
Tree sap, broken bottles,
a dead animal bloated soft as bread.
It lays them down in the ocean’s lap.
But Salt is ancient,
a grandmother with volcanic smoke on her breath,
her tongue tasting forever of iron.
She pulls the young river in by the hair.
There is no soft meeting,
they bruise each other.
Fresh water stammering,
salt water correcting,
arguments tangling into mist.
I stand where they drudge,
ankle-deep in their quarrel.
A smell of indecision,
like kissing someone who startles.
In this brackish mess
fish grow two sets of gills,
grass roots sideways,
tides write a daily diary.
Children are born,
fluent in two languages.
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