The River

Graham Fransella

Graham Fransella

See how slowly now
the river flows to the sea
Its waters running no longer
from the snow`pack long spent
but the moss`hidden springs
thunder showers over hills
all trickling to the sea

And all along the way
the roots of myriad trees
of berry`vine & fiddle`fern
drink to their hearts’ content
of grace without beginning
without end A sacrament
older than all ancestry

See how weightily now
the river churns to the sea
reposited with human debris
toxic waste of a century’s folly
face`up body of a rubber doll
missing one eye & one leg
our own children’s legacy

See how wasted the land
where rivers run no more
Spent they have gone to dust
where in the name of economy
we have sucked their milk dry
leaving but empty cartons
with the faces of the Lost

“How long does it take to make the woods?
As long as it takes to make the world.” ~ Wendell Berry


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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