Welcome to our sitePoetry and prose by Mary B. McKeel
Conscience Who do you feel most sorry for? Some said it is the guilty. The sleepless nights compound. Their only asset is memory.
Some say it is the guilty. They knew what was in their backpacks. Their only asset is memory. The river may provide absolution.
They knew what was in their backpacks. They go to the river to wash themselves. The river may provide absolution. They look for a preacher to baptize them.
They go to the river to wash themselves Still wearing the shirt from yesterday. They look for a preacher to baptize them. They want to come clean.
Still wearing the shirt from yesterday The sleepless nights compound. They want to come clean. Who do you feel most sorry for? Susquehanna The word- Susquehanna- Sounds like another word For a journey. The whisper of the syllables. Stays behind your eyes. The length of the word Suggests a restlessness All through your muscles. The sound sends warmth Down your back.
You want to cross the train tracks Over the river. That’s the way To your favorite whisper place.
Even if you wake up In a place farther south Where there are no rivers The exhilaration- The water below- Are somehow familiar.
The spectrum sunset memory Of several autumns ago Is a fingerprint, identifying.
The river had a name Before there was breath.
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Circular Reasoning It will come back to haunt you, They say, meaning, maybe The words you projected To the back of the room The time you said what you meant.
You brought along a ball Of bright red string And unwound it behind you As you wandered down the alleys So that you could find your way back. But the string broke.
You want to see That particular full moon again. You hope that Your beloved ghost Will come back But you hear not a whisper.
You hope to get back The eyesight you had once, When the cool lake was Visible outside your window. You want to retrieve what you had So that something will change.
From Cherkassy to be part of the new country. You no longer need the stiff, blue You are and are not made boots you wore on your way to us. You had already shaken the dust off the bottom of them.
With a laugh or a stamp of your foot you announce you significance. You are where you can be what you are- inextinguishable.
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