It Now Being Wednesday
At dawn, where the river coiled and then forked.
I ran, as rubber boats with blue lights
dab the grey
and police in wetsuits slip
like seals into the Seine.
Perhaps a woman, awake
to quiet her baby, glimpsed
a shadow falling.
Perhaps a night club owner returning home
spotted a billowing brown coat
just below the surface.
Perhaps after the holidays
had come and finally gone
and she didn’t turn up for work as usual,
the woman who shared the same desk,
worried. It now being Wednesday.
The police were rung.
A note found in her flat,
folded neatly with clear instructions
on where to find her body.
The body she left behind this morning
now surfacing in the embrace
of amphibian arms,
heavy like a child who’s fallen asleep
being carried to bed by her father,
who will kiss her damp forehead,
turn off the light.
