the deepening ground

Spring comes early for a twelve-year-old. No sooner had Wolf Creek thawed and warmer weather returned than my son came asking to go in the creek. A western Pennsylvania April isn’t the ideal time to return to the waters. As T. S. Eliot so aptly put it, “April is the cruellest month” (The Waste Land). However, by late April, my father’s heart was wooed back to the waters that have brought me much peace, my son much joy, and all of us such fond memories.

Upstream

by Vincent H. Anastasi 2026

My son cajoles me down into the creek
although the temperature would bid me wait
for warmer days when welcomed waters speak
and willingly I’d choose to take the bait.
So cautiously I step in ankle deep
and work my way upstream against the flow
until around my thighs the currents sweep.
I pause to steel myself for letting go.
The sudden gasp of life like being born
escapes me as I plunge into the chill
and all the cares that make me most forlorn
are washed away by simply standing still.
Though in the creek I taught my legs to stand,
still I must learn to swim upon the land.

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