Downriver

the storm is a girl     on the edge  of fury
in a dress the color of lead      not

the girl I once was      too easy    let’s talk about
downriver parishes no one knows the names of

not a spill  of moonlight    no cool loose dirt   let’s talk
about a river    thrashing     blinking open     no

lovely blur    but a wrecked pink shotgun
splintered    crushed   yes   I  am talking about

dynamite   yes downriver is a word    take it
apart    I am talking about the levee at Caernarvon

no metaphor      only spill    only break   only explode
not  edge   yet how often I walked the Mississippi’s border

mud sunk    swirl of storm    no too lovely   tall river grass
levee stunned open    glow of a silvered moon between

split trees   a body swept and dredged



Reprinted from Mother Water Ash (LSU Press, 2024) with the permission of the author. All rights reserved.