gramma henrie

a face creased with sunrise and setting built like an organic fanning delta last chapter of the great river spilling her glass for seas those shallow drafts all that is required to float stories which creak like the planks of barges tugs and steamers enchased with laughing tikes and gamblers trading up and down her banks hawking history in a churn of milk stirring we curl out for sleeping on her decks our faces all lit by falling stars watery gurgles whispering of old snags still rooted firmly in the sediment of seasons pass like the driftwood s flickering flame lighting those colors of our peach faces with generations of fire all at once a chain of lightning cracks the sky and cold falls we cannot live against this fractured rain and senses sink beneath froth waves as she must beg forgiveness and clouds of us rain down to one to wake upon the river shining opening those black frayed ends of praying silk we now prepare ship s logs for owning drowned and lean out o er her bow for guidance seeking what her death s tongue has she knows that list things we might need to reach the gulf but now we work to make the levee pounding her green blades into our clay and run o er brimming gifts of grass beneath our craft s hull stirring death s black hiss of air it bubbles up now seeking blues all seeking raging with a flood that rises ever higher still until the storm releases years her years like overflows all rising to new springs her spring green celebration finally splitting apart like a grounded vessel salvaged for burning to her sky each nail and stay divining stories flying all for these hot faced children who dream awake who now listen for the ashen fall and weep in that great joy of having known her dot henrie great old gramma henrie we all pray her soul to keeprecently visited my wife's grandmother in RI she's 98 smart as a whip and frail as a feather i could listen to her (Dot) talk for weeks and weeks Written April 2nd, 2002 © on Apr 29 2002 12:47 AM PST, Frederic Jacob Gutknecht IV   0 • 13