December 8, 2023

In this poem, I imagine encountering the ghosts of ancestors along the river bed.  Chilly mud dampens my knees as I kneel at the edge of the river. Relentless water ruts the earth, pummeling ancient boulders, stripping even grace bare.   I’m hammered by heartbreak with ghostly mist my only witness. When I finally lift my head, the moon is my lantern and I see you, standing silently by the riverbank.   My heart flutters, a tambourine, till I realize how long ago your tears fed this river in the opening by the pines. Your blood now flows in my