After the river, remembering
After “Hateful words survive in sticky clumps”
C.D. Wright, One With Others, p.108
the iceless morning, its pervasive
greyness: concrete sky over an infected
river. After the walk and the singing
that was both alarum and homage
for the river’s meanders, buried
but still swelling up into a baseball field,
we climbed up the hill to the broad street.
Cars weren’t stopping though I pressed
The crosswalk button several times.
My friend and I were talking about
the fox another friend had once
seen in that valley, and the deer
I’d seen. We finally crossed, stepped up
onto the curb, where we found
a swastika red-painted on the sidewalk
and up the yellow fire hydrant.
We kept walking, clumping
that image out of our minds
with our footsteps.
Enter the Eye
enter the oculus sky window
the size of a small lake
in the library’s roof …
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