Thursday, March 15, 2007

First Poem that Includes My New Home Town

Brockport Bridge

On a bridge in Brockport
arching the Erie Canal,
I consider the sunset
with my retreating shadow
and my unforgetting.

The canal is thawing low
between rocky banks,
between broken buildings
and aspiring pines,
beneath my hung stare.

The ivy’s beginning to cling
like an uncertain wife.
The Erie Canal, a profitable scar
running New York’s edge,
turns purple and orange — it trembles.

Miles away, Lake Ontario
always a season behind —
spring it freezes, summer it thaws,
fall it warms, winter it returns driftwood —
today, along fissures, it moans.

The sun is gone, the wind arrives
ripping the canal,
a metal echo through the bridge,
as Venus appears
confident, alone, and bright.

The bend in the canal
has disappeared
under another bridge?
where maybe no one stands?
The Erie Canal at twilight.
I wish I could regret her.

2 comments:

Katie said...

I found this poem through google alerts for references to Brockport. I enjoyed reading it... I too love the canal and the bridges here in my adopted town.

Semlohsa Moht said...

The heart of Brockport for me is Main Street. It's aorta's are Java Junction, Lift Bridge Books, the CnS, and The Galley (though on Market Street).