“Equating” by Eric Cruz (Poetry ’20)

Brown man stands before a river. If brown man stays
on the bank, his body would stretch 1,885 miles from
where his shadow starts. These dimensions make it so
he wants to put his skin in touch with the current.
Two distinct worlds become possible inside him: 1)
brown man either drowns, flailing and gulping down
water or struggles against the riptide until he swims.
In either world, the river’s heartbeat, a race between
light and water, whorls through his ears. In the river,
his body might speak. Might say struggle. Might say
move through the unsayable chill. In his mind, he
wants to jump. In his heart, a faith diminished. It is a
stone-like plummet before rising. Let’s say he doesn’t
make it. In the river bed, asleep, the sediment eroded
upstream is a soft grave. The body, curled. The body,
graced. In this mouth, he is not devoured. Alone
again, not just his body, but his name. There is no one
to mourn him, but plenty of water. Let’s say he
survives, finding a strong stroke. How long would it
take for the current to carry his darkness to new soil?