Issue 11.2 Spring 2016

11.2 cover image

 

 

THE BODY WASHED UP ON THE BANK

 

John Grey

 

 

Last night, at dusk, a young girl and boy
found a body washed up on the bank of a river.
They were just sixteen, out for a romantic stroll,
when they came across that woman.
The fading light made the smell even more overpowering,
darkened the green of her cheeks.

 

I've never come across a body.
It's not like finding a much-desired gift
under the Christmas tree.
Or discovering, with fork in mouth, that I really do
love asparagus after all.
Or the revelation that I know the answers
to the test in front of me.
It's surely the very opposite of these
and I can't imagine what that would be like.
I can only wrap my head around
the absence of a gift,
the gruesomeness of an unlovely vegetable,
the repeated stonewalling of a question,
and I know that it is none of these.

 

Last night, at dusk, a young girl and boy
experienced something but what that something is
remains as unintelligible to me
as facing down a lion or walking on the moon.
Their innocent lives were witness to the end
of someone, according to the news reports,
not all that much older than themselves.
They froze for a moment,
then turned to each other,
two looks of bewilderment squaring off
with the sun going down and the rising moon no help.
They could still be there for all I know.

 

 

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