You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August 2011.
Ironweed
It’s a short walk to the river –
down a dirt road along a birch
and sycamore forest.
Sometimes I pass joggers
or children with dogs. Today
the sky is wide-open blue
and grasshoppers share the air
with damselflies. On the
horizon, two young men –
dressed in black, bald,
with pierced earlobes, noses,
probably tongues. Skin heads
I say to myself. An alarm
sounds in my primordial brain
and I rush to the river’s edge
where, if pressed, I could
escape into the current; but,
my hat blows off, lassos
their attention and we meet
iris to iris, pupil to pupil.
To my surprise, they have
joined hands and are
just two lovers walking.
At night, I watch the news
from Iraq, the latest tsunami,
earthquake, hurricane. When
I fall asleep, I dream the river
has cut a new channel. Rifles
turn into sedge grass, bombs
into fireflies, soldiers into
mere boys. In the woods,
the language of fear
is extinguished
and the sound sounds like
intolerance
slowly melting
down to stone.
“Ironweed” was first published in Issue # 8 of Raving Dove, Fall/Winter 2006/2007 www.ravingdove.org
Recent Comments