Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Yet another poem from SGVPQ 40

Jeffry Jensen


The river finally gave up the bodies,
but not without a fight,
not without a warning to the foolish.

I felt smothered by a shimmering
longitude, cut off by implausible
dreams of flammable contentment.

There were buses buried in mud,
taxis that never delivered their fares,
passports that never reached a border.

I listened for a native choir to
penetrate a sizzling latitude, to
rattle the boards of a growing isolation.

The river receded and gave back banks
where mothers had washed clothes.
Children set fire to mangled tires
and saw fathers in the flames.

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