Wading into the River Beneath the Interstate by Asa Drake

Mothers say, happiness is inherited.

Wading into the River Beneath the Interstate

by Asa Drake

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A germination space. Then, the glass
between what you love today and what you loved 
yesterday. Vibrant, rich actions. Vibrant, rich 
growth. After Eden, everyone goes home.
To plant seeds. To say we love the unrelenting 
aspects of the world and carry them with us
into its aftermath, which is full of potential.
You are rebuilding the garden someone taught you
to love. Tucked into the erosion (The river at work.
At work, semi trucks above us. How do you decide
which of your parts you won’t submerge in freshwater?) 
on the bank, a bird rebuilds her nest above 
the tideline. Mothers say, happiness is inherited. 
Sometimes the garden is made of stones.
Care first. Decide about love later. 

First published in ONLY POEMS (October, 2024)