Anger
Without thinking, you’ve waded
deep into the pond, turned your back
on the comforts of the tranquil hillside
to face the astonishing sun, not blinding
but enough to clear the murky water.
Between your legs, small fish dart.
You see them for what they are: dumb-eyed,
cold-blooded, easily stunned. Even your fear
of large fish is gone. You are human
which means you can destroy anything
that pools here. You can win in this water,
stand wet and alone—once again
your surface heavy but cool.
Susan Trofimow
Susan Trofimow is a writer currently living in Boston, MA. Her work has appeared in Atticus Review, Whale Road Review, Lascaux Review, Hog River Press, and other publications.