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A Dried-up River Bed Helen Losse |
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to make truth sing, my readers weep. Am I asking too much of the rain?
A few drops had fallen, as we entered Kansas, where in Phillipsburg, we drove past the “Yesterday Shop” and the houses that looked like yesterday. And when crossing the Republican River, we noticed it was dried up. A sign of prophecy, yes?
Art or history? At this juncture, I concocted a fathomable symbolism, based on my true belief, concerning what light even our darkest corner may yet hold: Fire and water, maybe? A spark can thrive in a downpour, you know, a burning bush in a waterfall.
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Helen Losse is a poet and free lance writer with recent poetry publications or acceptances in Mastodon Dentist, Subtle Tea, Facets: A Literary Magazine, Black Bear Review, Rearview Quarterly, Tacenda, TimBookTu, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Blink, Domicile, Alba: A Journal of Short Poetry, The Verb, Cold Glass, The Pedestal Magazine, The Bohemian Rag, Sacramento Poetry, Art, and Music, Poets Against the War, Voices in Wartime, anthologies in the UK, and a micro-chapbook, Absolution, in the POEMS-FOR-ALL Series from 24th Street Irregular Press. Her chapbook, Gathering the Broken Pieces, is available through FootHills Publishing. She also writes book reviews for the Winston-Salem Journal. Her work has appeared previously in Right Hand Pointing.
