She Is Not Among The Debris




She forgets the slow current’s nature

The bridge makes memory disappear

Both sides, anchored to one another

By concrete skin, steel bolts, a mirage

Beams and illusion. Hazy covenant

The shores are never separate sides

Only two similarities, held in suspension


The ferry allowed her a connection

Provided time, renewal, ages to swim in

Banks gave up affinity, held unique desire

Now she bites with identical jaws

into wooden docks, slippery,

overgrown with asphalt and oil


She interrupts the bridge at its heart

A way to swim, to enter the slowness

A means to disconnect, severe from sameness

The sky turns the river into blue invitations

It does not lie, but reflects, apart


The river, ashen surface, greyness, an area

There are always crests in the wind

As if the river runs backwards

She must be pulled up by hand


She is not among the debris

Spring runoff has plans of its own

Bunching up, with the bridge


She swims with all her clothes on

Singularities explode into dimensions


Her fall, is a taste of everything remembered




46 Comments on “She Is Not Among The Debris

  1. This reads like a song
    I’m sure some people see that as an insult but some people see a can of mixed nuts as the core problem with Western society. So, the hell with those people.
    Thank you for the song.


  2. Perhaps, the paper is the ferry. I’m ok with it being crinkled. I guess, I’ll defend this poem. Then again, people have been thinking about “The Waste Land” ever since its publication. Fragments, polyrhythms are never “dead in the water”. You’re the best and have always let me find inspiration. I’m still thinking on it.


  3. Yeah, but I think it went down on paper with a bit of a crinkled corner of the mouth and a wink. Still thinking on it.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. You had me, Elan, at that first great line
    and you held me right through.
    This is worthwhile writing of a high order.

    Best Wishes



  5. Thanks. I appreciate your criticism. Perhaps you might want to check out Gertrude Stein’s “Tender Buttons”. Poetry is much more than making “a” point.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. The language is beautiful and the imagery juggles the construction of a bridge with the landscape very skilfully. What eludes me is the actual point your making. I also think the middle part of the poem needs restructuring. I found it confusing.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I always pick the images after a poem is nearing completion. The inspiration came from observation, a connection to an emotional language that resides within me, and life.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. Give me time to Work on this one. As in all ART, the user draws their own “picture”.
    I will find one !


  9. Thanks DiAnne. I’m now (recently) on Twitter. I’m not much of a phone person. As a matter of fact, where is my phone? I’ve got to go and find it.

    Liked by 1 person

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