Author: Jessica Thompson
Location: New Harmony, IN

She writes most of her work in the outdoors while gardening or hiking. Her poetry is forthcoming Fall 2006 in Nerve Cowboy and Sacred Journey.

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Ironweed

It’s a short walk to the river -
down a dirt road along a birch
and sycamore forest.
Sometimes, I pass joggers or
children with dogs. Today,
the sky is wide-open blue
and grasshoppers share the air
with damselflies. On the
horizon, two young men -
dressed in black, bald,
with pierced earlobes, noses -

probably tongues. Skin Heads,
I say to myself - an alarm
sounds in my primordial brain
and I rush to the river’s edge
where, if pressed, I could
escape into the current; but,
my hat blows off, lassos their
attention and we meet iris to
iris, pupil to pupil. To my
surprise, they join hands -
are just two lovers, walking.

At night, I watch the news
from Iraq, the latest tsunami,
earthquake, hurricane. When
I fall asleep, I dream the river
has cut a new channel. Rifles
turn into sedge grass, bombs
into fireflies, soldiers into
mere boys. In the woods,
the language of fear is
extinguished and the sound
sounds like intolerance

slowly
           melting
                        down
                                   to stone.

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