Thrush Poetry Journal
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J. K. Durick 

Rivers in Vermont

Around here we take them for granted

A bit of background, a little fishing,

Of course, and the bigger ones get

A kayak or canoe or two, but mostly

They are scenic, a postcard’s worth,

Rage a bit in spring, dry to almost nothing

In summer, in winter they disappear

Clogged and cluttered with ice, waiting.

They’re easy to forget, almost secret,

A whisper in our crowded lives, but

There are times like with Irene or Sandy

When they get loose, lose the tameness

We’ve bestowed on them, crash into

Our lives, roads and bridges, even houses

And graveyards, ways in and out of town

Lost, the sense of well-being washes away

So easily, leaves us guessing, planning

More than a little uneasy about our hold

On our things, our understanding of place

And our role in it, unused to this bullying,

Quiet friends turning on us is humbling.

Then it all returned to the way things were,

The next day we began to clean up, console

Ourselves, pat ourselves on the back, and

The rivers went back to their banks, back

To their beds, back to their assigned roles,

A bit of background, a postcard’s worth.




J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Write Room, Black Mirror, Third Wednesday, Foliate Oak, and Orange Room.




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