You twist down forever miles of country field,
call every town you touch your home.
Your waters seep through roots
that splay out under houses and acres
where memories are kept.
Each year, pieces pile up on your bed:
words from the neighbours' buried stories.
They've turned to dirt from years underground.
Great River, Mighty River, cascade
of memories.
The people don't remember,
but the houses that line your path
are watermarked
with the names
of all their stories.
I like the flowing nature of the poem and the imagery up to the last five lines, which seem like an add on. The poem seems to stop with a jerk there and those last lines don't quite belong. Hope you don't mind my comments - and are not offended, as I don't really know you well enough to be so bold.
ReplyDeleteI like it. More on the watermarks, where they come from, what they mean to you. Kev
ReplyDeleteHmmmm...thank you both! Lots to figure out!
ReplyDeleteLovely images of the touch of the river, the notion that the effect is both warm and tragic. To continue with the theme of this unseen influence as a narrative to all that life along the river is would allow more of both bliss and bereavement. Keep going, there is so much more to be told by this source of perpetual motion and life.
ReplyDelete