Carl Newlen

River Town

- July 10, 2009, 3:15 pm | Poetry

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Winter is the time to write
about river towns, walking past
scars carved in benches, old names,
a town sinking under river and hills,

where Western Auto and Super Foods
stand cold and hollow, red and blue
paint chipping into piles on the sidewalk
where I once collected buckeyes as a boy.

Then there is that calm, the way snowfall
quiets the air. I wish you knew this beauty,
the empty streets lined with white trees
under the weight of silence, at an hour
when waking is never easy.

I stand in the space between leaving
and coming home, on brick streets
I knew by heart, memory holding me
until I shake against the winter cold.

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