Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Crossing Rivers

Saw a sign in passing
that said
“Honey Island Swamp”
when I crossed over
the river of pearl

and across the years
the image came
a Cajun boy
with mussed dark hair…
walking ahead of me
on a disused iron trestle bridge
because I wouldn’t look down

then giving me
my first cigarette
when I made it across.

Inhaling that smoke
that he lit
with a match struck
on a rusty support
felt like victory

even if there were devils
of amusement
dancing in his dark eyes.

The river of pearl still flows
under the bridge.

The swamp still harbors
wandering children
wild in the marshland
small victories
reflected in the water.

(c) RCGA 20154th Iron Trestle or 1st iron Bridge


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