I stutter for normality
across the river
from black men fishing
for kibbers
and horned pout.

Barefoot children rounded
bellies curled
navels stalk the turtle
sunning on a log.

lonely in the field grass
lonely on the curbstones

I stutter for normality.

Not a mother
whose breasts are dry,
whose child doesn’t cry,
who sleep
on a cot
in a tent.


~The Concord River

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