The River
by Michelle Close Mills
She gazed outside
as foul water swathed
once gracious gardens,
well tended roses,
and a cobblestone walk
skillfully laid.
Waterlogged art,
heirlooms,
and photos show those
who'd gone on before…
Memories of when
Old Man River was
once a well trusted friend.
She heard shouts and cries as
neighbors,
rescuers,
and police tried in vain,
to vacate the street where she lived.
Now a toxic canal of
death,
loss,
and dreams...
with bodies afloat,
friends, dogs, and cats…
once a storm made
the Old Man a foe.
She resolved she would stay…
to not leave her house.
She felt part of its soul,
its heart, and its walls…
part of voices
that echo the past.
She'd remain in that house
where she drew her first breath
full of life,
and of hope,
now facing death,
as the River
claimed her as his own.
volume 9(6)
This poem is copyright © September 2005,
Michelle Close Mills, all rights reserved.
Find more poems by Michelle Close Mills.
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