terence says about the boys nestledin the mouth of the waterfall
the one boy’s eyes opened to the sky, legswrapped around the rock to keep him
alive, afloat, the river running overhim, kissing him just so, his body
an interruption in the water, the rushand roar of its call partitioned by the fall
dividing it from itself. the other boysperched around him like water nymphs
staring off beyond the mountains’ dip,where the sun sets. the boys so landed
they become part of the land, the roots rootingaround their ankles. yes, in their lorded fly
bag, but a lord of the flies beforeit gets dark. before they do what they do
to piggy, before the split and hunt. wild,still. boys who jump from as high
as the trees, into the water cradledso lovingly by rock, boys who ford
the river in their socks, throwing their shoesto any soft land willing to catch. the water,
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a mother: both healing and scolding, both softand gathering pressure at the fall. shallow
enough to walk, deep enough to dive, the boysknow her, where to step
and where to not, how to say hello, whento let her sleep. their big toes scraping
into the moss, curling to hold them steady, fingernailsfinding the hook between roots to anchor, to pull
their bodies upwards. the coquís coquíing their song.the sun winking its set. everything green; nothing
poisoned. alhamdullilah, to know landso well, you can play with it. to never second guess
where your foot lands, how to get your bodywhere it wants to go. to be so fromed, you from.
alhamdullilah, to cradle the fall and not fall.to hear the river’s rush and feel safety. wild.
the boys. in their lord of the flies bag. yes,the boys, there, on top of the waterfall. pulling
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crumbs of leaves out of each other’s hair. the boys:wild, but not lost. the boys, wild and belonged.
Fatimah AsgharFatimah Asghar, author of If They Come for Us, is a poet, filmmaker, educator, and performer.