Ripples, by Rowan Sanan

The striking of a hammer upon a nail 

The thumping feet of a runner 

The gradual increase of speed as the heart lurches, Intense in velocity. 

Strong, yet weak. 

Hardened, yet softened, 

By the blows of a sight 

Or a sound 

Or a feeling 

That brings one back to the times they would rather forget. 

Flowing water does not forget. 

The wood the nail divides does not either. 

As the soles of shoes wear with use, 

So does the chest, 

The hammering pulse originating from the centre, 

Spiralling out like a ripple in the mind, 

Calling out, a hand outstretched. 

A gnarly, long-nailed graying hand. 

Reaching to pull you down 

Into the dark depths of the water 

That ripples out. 

Breath, stolen, must return. 

Sucked in, a vacuum desperate for power. 

Not enough. Never truly enough, but it sustains. 

The throbbing sustains. 

The claws of the hand scraping, clawing, impossible to swat away,

Too easy to succumb to. 

So it is pushed back, into the deepest depths. 

Those ripples, how you wish they would cease - 

But they never truly end, 

Unless they are stopped in their determined tracks.

"...a story of how Fate as a being can often linger in the mind. After all, it is part of everyone's eventual destiny, even if people try to avoid it - or forget it. But like water rippling away from a droplet, it never forgets. The water is now displaced, the shoe worn, the wood riddled with holes. Impermanence is one of the things that makes that final destiny interesting."

Rowan Sanan is a poet, writer and editor studying Music and Professional Writing. He spends his free time writing poetry and fiction, practicing the French horn, and watching animated shows and movies - mainly for their soundtracks. His work has previously appeared with the Toronto Public Library and the Young Writer’s Journal.