, , , , ,


The river's nooseConfession


 That I have fallen in love with a polluted river


Does not mean I wish it to be so – the pollution


That is – the love I am glad for, though I suppose this


Always-desire-to-save I have known since childhood


In some part took me down to the creosote shorelines,


Made me walk the rebar beach, saw me spend months gathering


Up the ruins men had cast with neglect and haste on its banks,


Turning it from the fishing realms of the heron & the sturgeon’s


Deep solace to this oily emptiness loud with machines – there was


Something in this desperate collecting – a feeling I was less helpless,


That my love was active and purifying – but now so many other rivers


Have been condemned to such indifference and my poems have not


Changed anything I think that love must be larger scale than this –


Bigger than a sole woman adoring a damaged tributary by writing it


Unheard songs and each afternoon seeking to remove one dead


Element from waters that swarm with our ghosts.

The river's chains