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The River! The River!

Young woman in old clothes,
looking far past her age,
sits nervously prattling to herself -
at a square presed-wood table,
imbrued by dark ink,
engraved in chicken scratch
obscene, tho', barely legible,
within the wood-grooved
whose splinters obscure -
a clean, clear view.

Then, of course there were,
the hand-happy wood slammers
purging their confetti
of manic emotions
within the un-holy confinds
of a stenched, human bandbox,
quite mundungus and fullsome, in kind.

She has witnessed insideous horror,
tho' she's guilty of no crime.
Yet, her congenital mental state
offers skinny, skewed specifics...,
for deposition, or to strengthen her claim.

Then, suddenly her green eye's
open large and expressive
as though she'd been deep in dream
of a surreal, queerly nature.....,
and then frightened into wakeness.

The River! The River! ....she begins to shout;
her pupils dancing with frightening verve.

Then there was silence...for a very long time.....,
for a very, very long time....................................

A nd tho' it seemed these vibrant eyes
had so much more to say,
everything else was..............yes,
was quite abnormal, as she stared
into a blue sea of shirts
with numbered sheilds in shiny silver,
who then defered to those standing
with darker, plain clothes,
with their hideous K-Mart ties
well hung over their flies...,
and who strategically made blood attempts
to crack the imbrued and skewed stem
of the womans anemic brain...

All for nought!

Like attempting to turn an island into a bridge...

Wasting pecious Time!

Time...fascinating...yet ne're a friend to tide nor justice.

And so............................

Two weeks later they found what they needed to find -
two weeks sooner.

The body was pulled from a river,
a shallow river...
had to be thawed
from the ice-glaced days -
of December,
while authorities made efforts for weeks,
so many weeks,
to tap wine-
from a caraf filled with pepsi...

And the mentally deprived woman
remained true to her story,
and for nights aft' returning back home,
neigbors would be awakened in the mid-night
to the eerie mono-chanting
of the woman crying out...
within her deep-rooted dreams

The River! The River!

Her nights.... virtual freeze-frame...

Neighbors moved;
Houses gutted;
And the land was turned over -
Yet, to this day
nobody knows what went down -
Or who had died....
so many scores now....ago.

Old woman, she's now ninety-three
tho' some sware a half score more
self-imprisoned in her house
all by heself...
no one can hear her.
Perhaps thats how it was meant to be.

F j R
Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR
Submitted: Monday, October 22,2012
Edited: Monday, October 26,2012

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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