Temptation//Emily Blair

I waded through the creek barefoot hoped for shade watched for glass pressed fingers to dry rocks baked above the waterline

I can’t swim but the creek is hip high at best and far from best in August

I slipped, fell, got mud up my back, but that’s expected

my grandfather used to fish the New River took a long pole to check for sinkholes dozens of meters deep

you’d be shuffling along and all anyone saw was the top of your head disappearing and all anyone could do was pray you come back up

I lost a great-uncle in the river before I was born and my great-aunt married an alcoholic after

I never knew him, never met, I don’t think, after he beat her and she left without a dime

he’s not blood kin but that shit’s deep in my veins, all the way back, so I have to be careful mk. when I wasn’t careful, I had to be completely drunk , when I wasn’t drunk I had to repent , ripping knots of hair , off the back of my skull , when I wasn’t repentant, I was atheistic, could not believe , even in myself

and when I couldn’t believe in myself I began , to look down into the deep hole of alone but I am sober, cautious, scoot-footing, hunting for shade and berries and ways upstream

Emily Blair is a queer Appalachian writer and scholar living in North Carolina. You can find more information about her and examples of her work on her website, emilyblairpoet.com.