Rivers Get Lost

The right winter for dope and ice for walks along the river route home The right winter for arctic pin-prick wind holes in boots turquoise dress coat far too thin for walks along the river But The Merrimack couldn’t find her way when fabric moguls migrated south Fascinated by nylon nasties they traded their silks and cottons for those petro-polyesterdays While she— could no more manufacture life than mint their money So, they blamed her Pronounced her—“Dead” Decried her “Dirty” Now— She wanders sadly under bridges stopping to eddy in an overhang of birches In dank canals, I found her sleeping angered only at the falls Poor outcast! with current edge she splinters light from cities sadder still retching her oily stench past Plum Island into the sea— into me What’re a few warm tears falling from someplace on a bridge to the icy waters of the Merrimack? Rivers get lost in the ocean don’t they? Let them find each other there

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elizabeth-balise

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