Saturday, March 22, 2014

Maid of the MIst



Your great skirts rushing like water
We tripped down the metal stairs
stubbing our toes on every landing
as we descended to the turbines buried
deep behind the falls. You shouted
but I still couldn't hear over 
the constant gnawing on the other side
of the wall. My brain rattled, an apricot stone
in my skull. I clenched my fist to trap
the metal granules that clung like poppy seeds
to the sweaty furrows of my palm. Outside,
the ship tore through the curtains, plowed
through the veil of debris that bobbed on the waters.
All the passengers stood on the bow
in their yellow slickers, shouting to be heard
over the rush of the Horseshoe Falls.
Your heel cracked on the last step
but I couldn't catch you before you went down
on one knee on the gangplank, genuflecting
to the great river mistress, Lady Niagara,
her tulle skirts crashing down that 
endless flight of stairs.


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