“The Delaware at Sunset”
(c) 2016, Kerri Nicole McCaffrey
Gliding past Van Campen
poplar breeze and sycamore—
fields, various and purple:
rich bergamot, loosestrife
the violet-colored clover—
I am a child—newly minted—
turning down a dirt road,
fields open colorfully—
an Amish clothesline in spring.
Once again, I’m powered
by Grape Crush
pedal past long grass
puddle and pool
through bower of barberry
—pray for absence of bear—
and where thickets cease
river wends.
Soon I find suspension
jade refreshment
sunlight and riffles
just me
as far as eye can see.
Later, some middle-age gents
come by in canoes
laughing—and for some reason
flying a Jolly Roger on a pole mast—
kind pirates
they see me swimming—wave,
but do not board my peace,
as fishermen appear
kindle fire on rocky beach—
watch me from Pennsylvania’s shore.
I observe them from a different state—
I am 10 once more:
grape soda, the bike ride
an impromptu swim—
men finding their boyhoods
fishing
flying the Jolly Roger—
as Huck once did.
The water swirls me
gently around
never really moving
upstream or down—
every river has such eddies
each body, soul.