The man in the first and third photos is my dad. I drove down to his house yesterday to try to temporarily escape the dark cloud hanging over Radford/Blacksburg in the wake of the horrific events at Tech. I'm also posting a poem I wrote a few years back. Photography has taken the place of poetry for me recently, but I've been feeling inspired to write again lately. On a related note, I'm a faculty co-advisor to RU's literary and arts magazine, Exit 109, and they had a wonderful reading last night for the premier of this year's magazine. Those of you who check out this blog and are students/faculty at RU should pick up a copy of the magazine--it's filled with really good poetry/art.
The Weight of Silence
Staring out at the river
my mind draws me back
to the time we spent floating
in that ancient green
flat-bottomed boat, hoping
the hull would not crack.
All that day, there was something
I wanted to tell you,
something about loss--
how it rises in us unexpected
like a spring flood--
but only breath rose to my lips,
as insubstantial as mist,
and we listened to the water
purl over stones.
Drifting back to back
among treetops and boulders
worn smooth by the slapping currents,
our lines cast in separate angles
into the passing flow,
we fished the deep pools,
plumbed the river's bottom.
Our lines came up empty.
Moss covered.
1 comment:
I've tried a couple of times now to write, in some succinct way, why I like this poem. I'm still having trouble verbalizing why, but I do really like the poem. It's my favorite of the ones you read today and I'm glad that it's the one you posted. It transcends mediocrity.
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