the river rats are in my harbor
watching the waters now
flat grey no shimmer
secret light no flare
I feel it on my back
I smell it moving in the sewers
What is there
and what is not there,
odors of a parallel stink
burdens that bend me
tears tumble over the month of days
the hard smudge on the calendar
"has there been a day you haven't cried?" I ask my sister
the river rats are in my harbor
(written one month post 9-11. The photograph, taken from the Jersey side, was from the nephew of a woman I worked with; unfortunately I don't know his name)
