Untitled by Bill Holm

From the Album River Circular

I
River, you were calm
as a blind grandmother
humming over your knitting
for long October days
while the last red leaves
fell into your lap
and floated south.
II
A bird made of water,
your wet stone wing
flap out to guard
the thousand islands
of sand and sumac
where fires are kindled,
stories told; love made.
III
Three old friends sat
in a boat beneath an umbrella
reading Mark Twain
to fish who stayed in
your muddy stomach
and would not be charmed
out into the grey light.
IV
But then, going north,
you tried to kill us
and I loved you best
the hard grey chop
of your hundreds of hands
trying to soften the meat
before you eat at last
V
Whatever else, you are alive:
aorta of the continent
pumping out muddy blood
of cattle yards, corn fields,
and black sinkhole towns
grown up like barnacles
on your whale skin bluffs

Source: River Circular
Publisher: Mississippi River Revival

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