Moving Water

| November 16, 2017 | 0 Comments

I am standing on hot, dry sand
a river flows in front of me –
a stream, really, maybe knee-deep now,
at the height of the dry season.
Flows by pale blue
blue like the hot, dry sky.
I am standing on hot, dry sand and
a bell jangles dully in the high reeds
on the bank across the rio
like muted music
like a far away alarm.
I am standing on hot, dry sand
and a cow pushes out of the high reeds
on the bank across the rio,
a bell jangles around its neck,
a red dog follows, then
a man.
He sits on a blue lawn chair
and looks across the rio
looks at me
standing on the hot, dry sand.
The pale blue rio flows quietly between us
just a stream really,
not even knee-deep.
We hold each others’ gaze.
Nothing around us for miles
but lizards and the vultures wheeling overhead.
We smile.
Between us soars the shadow of a wall
30 feet high, transparent, solar powered.
Between us stands the ghosts of men with guns and dogs.
Between us are the echoes of political rhetoric, anger, and fear.
We wave.
Between us the pale blue rio flow quietly,
not even a stream,
knee-deep at best. 




featured photo credit: Ellen Asermely

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Category: Poetry, Prose and Comedy, Politics, Reflections, Thurman Thoughts

Ellen Asermely

About the Author ()

Ellen Asermely is a senior (!) in the Pardee School studying International Relations. Born and raised in Rhode Island, the smallest but weirdest state, she enjoys coffee milk, the Big Blue Bug, and Awful Awfuls. In her free time, Ellen can be found by the ocean, eating anything with cheese on it, reading Harry Potter, or hugging strangers' dogs.

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