by Angela Patton
It begins as a whisper
in a lonely place high up
among the bracken and the sedges,
unnoticed, trivial.
At first slender as a girl
collecting sallies in her apron,
a river swells with rainfall,
shrinks with drought,
may slacken to a stingy trickle
or strengthen to a torrent.
Reed buntings skim its surface.
An emerald dragonfly and kingfisher
flit and dazzle above its banks.
Its voice is never jabber, only song.
A river may appear impressionable,
foolish, easily led. And yet
if turned aside, will in the end
come round to its intended course.
It cannot be contained by fences,
ditches, levees, dams. Leaves
everything it has ever owned
behind it in the past.
It runs its own way home, holding
a kiss in its watery mouth.
Angela Patten’s publications include four poetry collections, The Oriole & the Ovenbird (Kelsay Books 2021), In Praise of Usefulness (Wind Ridge Books 2014), Reliquaries (Salmon Poetry, Ireland 2007) and Still Listening (Salmon Poetry, Ireland, 1999), and a prose memoir, High Tea at a Low Table: Stories From An Irish Childhood (Wind Ridge Books 2013). Her work has appeared in many literary journals (including the St. Katherine Review) and anthologies. Born and raised in Dublin, she maintains dual citizenship in Ireland and the United States, where she has lived since 1977. She is a Senior Lecturer Emerita in the English Department at the University of Vermont.
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