Page 32 - WTP Vol. IX #7
P. 32
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To the People of Upper Black Eddy
Water curls in on itself,
blackened by the upper canopy of branches
or muck scraped from the sodden sediments
and slopes that dampen the Delaware.
A counter current to the larger, more
insistent, thrust. Many must have passed, pulled along the towpath the makings of a life,
where now a small twist of tar humps over roots in the roadway between houses clawed
to the hillside and those wedged up against
a defunct canal. Those who now live here wait, arrange small bits along the river’s edge,
a thought or two, something accrued,
sweepings time draws across one’s estuary.
How good to be among the residues
and trailing weeds. I stopped to ask the way
to Tinicum in Frenchtown. They thought I meant New Hope, and so by misdirection,
I found an inside edge instead, a selvage,
this catch in the swallowing we swim in.
roGEr MitchELL
