by Sharon Whitehill
Parked near the river,
where black-eyed Susans
bend toward the last of the light
and pinkish swamp milkweed
illumines the dusk,
they are past conversation, past tears.
Around them the tang of wet moss
drifts in from the water
and joins the dank odor
of river rock under the bridge,
the dry scent of midsummer weeds
and the gravel dust raised by their tires.
Brown eyes gaze into blue
as the whippoorwill trills its own name
and the river lilts slow water music,
then turn to follow a water bug’s shimmy
across the windshield.
When it vanishes into the gloom,
they straighten their clothes,
he starts up the car,
and the river runs on.
* * * * *
Sharon Whitehill is a retired English professor from West Michigan now living
in Port Charlotte, Florida. In addition to poems published in various literary
magazines, her publications include two scholarly biographies, two memoirs, two
poetry chapbooks, and a full collection of poems. Her chapbook, This Sad and
Tender Time, is due out winter 2024.
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