The Crossing

by on March 19, 2019 :: 0 comments

-After Debra Fritts, “Empty Buckets

In a rickety raft with empty buckets
and no oar, I stand transfixed, cast-off
afraid to move, the question,
Will I survive? raking me.

I slow down, look around
find a hidden oar locked on the side.
Like a parrot waking, I squeal a song,
praise for this boat that floats.

Sudden as thunder the buckets fill:
currants, apricots, cashews, chocolate
from Belgium. A reminder, I believe
in angels, miracles, ancestor guides.

editors note:

Enough, just to reach the other side; the buckets will fill themselves. (We welcome Julene to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

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