elegy

 

I think by now the river must be thick with sin. Too late, I would imagine

As if it was that human evil: the dumping of waste, that clouds out oceans like it clouded our river

Settling around use – everything besmirched and grimed. This life, awkward

And heavy in our cleaning gear, we stalked the sins of our brethren and found our places – 

You upstream a few yards and by the bank of the river. You must remember how

The river seeped into your shoes, pervading their protection and sullying your socks

And you grew heavy with the defeat you felt from such a minor inconvenience

All day I had turned to watch you, how your scorned at empty plastic bottles and pieces of glass

Then you casting your pieces of “meaningful treasure” into a supermarket grocery bag for later inspection

Slicing your hand in the process, on the severed remains of a tin can.

You tried again, and again, to find that perfect stone to skip across the river

Hoping it would skim across the water’s surface like a fisher spider.

Perhaps you recall the story I told you,

About the God of this river and his downfall as the hands on humanity

The ways in which the people he protected had turned against him in order to rid their waste.

Perhaps you forgot about it, much like the very existence I informed you of.

I confess, I thought about the past – setting a boat onto the river with my lover,

Composing and reciting poetry written for her

Her hand in mind and the Old Father’s protection cast onto our souls.

I can tell you now that I tried to take it all in,

The fact that history can be forgotten, rewritten and created.

History is a sad little thing and so I will recount my own history.

Recording it all for an elegy I’d one day write.

One that includes the forgotten and turns them into the remembered

But for now, this is an elegy to the river.