Under the Mangroves

Thin and spindly, like a grandmother's fingers
Thunder-struck into the mud below.
This is how you see the roots
Of the mangroves that encircle the lake.

After school, you come there to play,
Like others before you.
Although you haven't seen them
Since they played amongst the mangroves.

Cool dark mud stretches out under
Shaded bark that's rough to the touch.
You try and climb but slide down
Again and again. Crabs scurry from under your boots.

You try not to think about the roots of the trees
Entangled and crossing for miles
The bones of those who've fallen into the mud
But the trees call out and you're here again

Sounding like chimes and whistles, tingling
Like sherbet on tongues, bee stings on fingers
Mid-climb you slip, first feet, then knees, into the mud
Stomach and throat, then darkness is all you see.