morning poem, December 3, 2015

 

 

He stands knee deep in the little river in gabardene pants

It’s 1959, and he has brought his son here

To this place where he spent his own boyhood.

He has a job now and bills to pay and nothing to spend

On any frill like blue jeans

But he knew that he must get the boy down to the river

This river, that is shallow and wide

And where the sun glints off of the clear water

And where clouds of minnows then swirl in the brightened channels.

He dips and reaches underwater, and to the river bottom

And lifts a black-shelled mussel, big as his own hands,

from its track in the sand

And in the way that he learned long ago

And with the strength of youth that is still his

He pulls the shell apart and lays the clam open in his hands.

He calls to the boy and then shows him the gleam inside

The blue veins and the jewel colors that vanish in an instant.

 

Copyright 2015

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4 Responses to morning poem, December 3, 2015

  1. Nice. Feels like a scene from the chapters we were reading…

  2. labeak52 says:

    Thanks. Want to try to ride Saturday?

  3. A // W // F says:

    This feels just beautifully real. I love it. 🙂

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