i.m. Oscar Alberto Martinez Ramirez and Valeria Ramirez
Lone gray bird pecks the ground by the river.
Our clothes left in a mound by the river.
When the Blood Moon wanes, unclaimed selves come home.
In my dream, I’ve given fins, crowned River-
Keeper. Langston Hughes used poetry, John
Constable, paint, to expound the river.
Does the drive to live return at the end?
What were Wolf’s thoughts as she drowned? The river
knows. Second storm this week cracks limbs of wind-
weakened trees. Rain’s hammers pound. The river
swollen, ready to spill. Each night, chores done,
Mom released her braid, unbound a river
of dark blond, brushed until sparks flew. Her quick
pulse calmed, lulled by the sound of the river.
Circles the currents draw. Jeweled specks of light.
Hours watching, spellbound by the river.
The bridge was safer, but the bridge was closed.
Spool of a father’s dreams unwound. The river,
at least, didn’t rip his daughter from his
arms. Look! More migrants, bound for the river.
Blood and soil. Hate made acceptable
again. What’s lost, what found in the river?
How to make waves that smooth sharp stone. How to
let go. Teach me something profound, river.