Flowing
Away
Has the river washed away
its memory of the afternoon
I
leaned toward it as if
in
homage eating tomatoes
from
mother's garden, juice
and
salt seasoning the dike
I
stood on.
Summer
was flowing away.
How many bridges would it
flow under before I started
school, where failure sat in a corner
friendship wore down like chalk
and teachers mispronounced my name?
I ate
the last tomato
then went to the riverbank.
No textbooks, no words
just the river emptying
into me while flowing away.
--Mary Lucina
Copyright © 2001 by Free Lunch Arts Alliance
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