Poem
Atsuro Riley
Chord
Chord
Chord
Come the marrow-hours when he couldn\'t sleep,
the boy river-brinked and chorded.
Mud-bedded himself here in the root-mesh; bided.
Sieved our alluvial sounds—
Perseverating fiddler-crabs pockworking the pluff-mud;
(perforated) home-bank gurgle and seethe;
breathing burrow-holes, under-warrens,
(pitched) pent-forts, coverts;
a rabbity heart-hammering amongst the canes;
bleat of something;
sleeping Mama grinding (something) with her jaw;
Daddy rut-graving gravel driving off;
the desolated train-trestle rust-buckling —and falling;
an echo-tolling cast-iron skillet like a gong;
downrivering gone (gone) gone (gone);
Sylvia supper-calling her fish-camp fish with a bell;
putting her tea kettle! wren-calls on for the crying
marsh-wren orphans;
R.T. tale-telling down by Norton’s Store
"Where every Story cauls a Grief";
Daddy —nine-eyed, knee-walking— aisle-weeping at the Bi-Lo;
Mama mash-sucking sour loquats in the shed;
ire-salts quartzifying in the dark;
the caustics;
the fires;
far Fever Creek revival-tents hymning and balming;
bees thrive-gilding the glade;
hand-strang bottle-oaks (and intricated yardwire-works)
clocking and panging;
Viaduct Forge & Foundry beating time;
the bait-boys along the dock drum-dunting their buckets;
vowel-howling over the water;
the river;
RIVER.
© 2007, Atsuro Riley
From: Poetry, Vol. 191, No. 3, December
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
From: Poetry, Vol. 191, No. 3, December
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
Poems
Poems of Atsuro Riley
Close
Chord
Come the marrow-hours when he couldn\'t sleep,
the boy river-brinked and chorded.
Mud-bedded himself here in the root-mesh; bided.
Sieved our alluvial sounds—
Perseverating fiddler-crabs pockworking the pluff-mud;
(perforated) home-bank gurgle and seethe;
breathing burrow-holes, under-warrens,
(pitched) pent-forts, coverts;
a rabbity heart-hammering amongst the canes;
bleat of something;
sleeping Mama grinding (something) with her jaw;
Daddy rut-graving gravel driving off;
the desolated train-trestle rust-buckling —and falling;
an echo-tolling cast-iron skillet like a gong;
downrivering gone (gone) gone (gone);
Sylvia supper-calling her fish-camp fish with a bell;
putting her tea kettle! wren-calls on for the crying
marsh-wren orphans;
R.T. tale-telling down by Norton’s Store
"Where every Story cauls a Grief";
Daddy —nine-eyed, knee-walking— aisle-weeping at the Bi-Lo;
Mama mash-sucking sour loquats in the shed;
ire-salts quartzifying in the dark;
the caustics;
the fires;
far Fever Creek revival-tents hymning and balming;
bees thrive-gilding the glade;
hand-strang bottle-oaks (and intricated yardwire-works)
clocking and panging;
Viaduct Forge & Foundry beating time;
the bait-boys along the dock drum-dunting their buckets;
vowel-howling over the water;
the river;
RIVER.
From: Poetry, Vol. 191, No. 3, December
Chord
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