“Niagara Falls”

This poem took a quick spring break to Buffalo and-

Rain came and folded up the snow, put it away
for the year except some pillows in the corners,
rain fell again with a crinkling sound, someone
wrapping flowers in cellophane, maybe pussy
willows, the blurred fur blooms like the slush,
blush of soap on the car windows, Delta car-
wash neon strobe-light joy ride I drove through
in the dead of winter just to hear water released,
like the cracked parched lips of frozen ground
parted to the thawing rain, yes, today what-was
is gone and what-will-be is pressing against us,
long fingers of rain in the dirt, the silver lines
in the furrowed fields, and we are pushing back
in the mud ruck, my fingers picking out letters
to track across the melting snow of the screen,
while somewhere further the water ladders
down the river shoals, maybe even leaps over
some world-famous falls to come around, to try
again to become a different element, electric
art, charged flow past resistance, lightning fire.

Minnie Bruce Pratt

Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivs
Creative Commons 2010

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