Listening to the River in the Rain


On those autumn rainy days, 
by the river is where I walked 
with only my thoughts — 
irritants more than companions. 
They would dampen my trek 
more than the gentle spritz 
of lisping meteorological sibilance.
And then those old wondering if-only’s
and pondering damn-it’s would
sidle up to me like panhandlers
who wouldn’t take “Sorry” for an answer.
I never tossed my two cents 
into their jingle-less cups.
I had fewer answers than I had 
ready change for a dollar or five.
No, I tucked my head deeper
between my shoulders and looked
to the Hudson for advice. 
But the river just kept running by,
southbound, constant, always listening,
never saying much more than 
the faintest whisper, never suffering
fools who argued with themselves
in the rain over waters long ago 
crossed beneath the bridge.
That wise old river.

3 thoughts on “Listening to the River in the Rain

    • Thank you for reading and your comment, Jo-Anne. It’s been so difficult of late to coalesce any thoughts beyond misery and fear. And I don’t want to whine poetry anymore. THAT could make for a very thinly populated blog. So here’s hoping for hope in my future.

  1. This is such a joy to read – I read quickly last night but too tired to take it in. This morning I read it and then read it out loud, all the time my head gently, ever so slightly bobbing up and down. A meaningful read, indeed. Thanks

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