Waterfall
There’s a terror in its stillness,
The way you cannot pick a spot
and follow it to gauge speed or strength.
The way it just is. The way it seems to stand
like a pillar of a Greek Temple that outlasts
the walls or ceilings as if it was always meant to
to hold up the sky. And so, too, must you stand
as awe drives a pool into your chest deep enough
that a group of teens might hold hands and jump
into it one crisp spring morning. You try to imagine
a beginning. The river, a child lost in a supermarket,
turning, looking, afraid. The booming Tannoy announcement
of gravity gifting a way out – down. You imagine a beginning,
how that first drop must have been a team building exercise.
The water falling, shining, vulnerable. Trusting the ground,
its moss and earth and rock to take it’s weight. All of it, forever.
Joshua Judson is a poet and editor from Nottingham. His work has appeared in publications such as Magma, The North, and Brittle Star. He is currently working on the manuscript for his debut pamphlet, which is to be entitled Lad.