Copiah

Copiah

Ellis Purdie

Strayed, I plunged beneath a fast, muddy braid
so much deeper than my three feet in length.
Age five the first time I felt such panic,
breath no longer a given, feet and hands
finding no purchase, so I dog-paddled.
And fighting the current’s pull, I glimpsed Dad
tearing toward me down the creek, my relief.
The bottom winched tight around my ankles,
its chain a fear mirrored in my dad’s face,
the stream exploding around his footfall.
Then I was lifted and placed back on sand,
breath of God that woke Adam cradling me.

And is God’s like the fatherhood I’ve known?
Whether upstream, down-, desperate to save.

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Ellis Purdie
Poet

Ellis is a graduate of The Center for Writers at The University of Southern Mississippi. Previous work has appeared in Red Rock Review, Riveted, Willows Wept Review, The Reformed Journal, New World Writing, and others. He lives with his family and teaches in Marshall, Texas, where he is often looking for wildlife.

Photography by Kristaps Ungurs