We Were River Monsters
Christopher Stein

Up the river with you, I was filling myself full of drink.

That’s why I stumbled up so many mossy rocks,

the water sloshing in the basin, edging at the brink.


I put my arms around your waist, my cheeks pink

with anticipation for the hike up a mountain of granite blocks.

Up the river with you, I was filling myself full of drink.


You laughed, said there are handles, made my heart sink.

At the top of the river now, feet wet, we pulled off our socks,

the water sloshing in the basin, edging at the brink.


But the way you looked at me—that fucking blink,

that ‘Oh!’ of surprise—pulled me from peace into paradox.

Up the river with you, I was filling myself full of drink.


Then the wine fog cleared; I found that final missing link!

You looked past me, you pointed out a passing fox. Below,

the water sloshing in the basin, edging at the brink.


I realized then that I was talking out of sync,

my voice drowned by the timeless ticking of the clocks:

up the river with you, I was filling myself full of drink,

the water sloshing in the basin, edging at the brink.