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Column 178

Father, Child, Water

Intro by Ted Kooser
08.27.2008

We mam­mals are fero­cious­ly pro­tec­tive of our young, and we all know not to wan­der in between a sow bear and her cubs. Here Min­neso­ta poet Gary Dop, with­out a moment’s hes­i­ta­tion, throws him­self into the water to save a fright­ened child. 

Father, Child, Water

I lift your body to the boat
before you drown or choke or slip too far

beneath.  I didn’t think—just jumped, just did
what I did like the physics

that flung you in.  My hands clutch under
year-old arms, between your life

jacket and your bobbing frame, pushing you,
like a fountain cherub, up and out.

I’m fooled by the warmth pulsing from
the gash on my thigh, sliced wide and clean

by an errant screw on the stern.
No pain.  My legs kick out blood below.

My arms strain
against our deaths to hold you up

as I lift you, crying, reaching, to the boat.

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Disclaimer

We do not accept unsolicited submissions

We do not accept unsolicited submissions. American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © by Gary Dop. Reprinted from New Letters, Vol. 74, No. 3, Spring 2008, by permission of Gary Dop. Introduction copyright © 2024 by The Poetry Foundation.