Crayfish
As I watch the sun receding
into the trees beyond the river,
I wonder at being born,
at being born in a world always
backing away towards some new organization
yet, unable to withdraw its hand from the old,
miserly child,
even past the very last hissing
as if the burning sun escaped into the river's edge,
and not into the world beyond.
Then our lives are played
like burnt sun shadows in our eyes,
over and again,
in the memories and nuances
of the past.
Forced - through our need -
to grasp
at the lives of our fathers
like the last drag
on the last cigarette. We
hang there
while they're alive
wishing to be held,
and yet,
foreign to that nitch
by the years.
Yearning to apprehend
the significance
of their days:
the fullness,
yet, separated
by that barrier
that finds them
backing away - inescapably -
and us,
backing toward them,
never to catch up,
never to find the importance
in their dreams.
Locked into our own current,
backing like crayfish in the river shallows
backing toward the sun, just now -
backing deep within us,
into the western sky.
Grand Island
1977
Grand Island Series
©1977 Crayfish — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
into the trees beyond the river,
I wonder at being born,
at being born in a world always
backing away towards some new organization
yet, unable to withdraw its hand from the old,
miserly child,
even past the very last hissing
as if the burning sun escaped into the river's edge,
and not into the world beyond.
Then our lives are played
like burnt sun shadows in our eyes,
over and again,
in the memories and nuances
of the past.
Forced - through our need -
to grasp
at the lives of our fathers
like the last drag
on the last cigarette. We
hang there
while they're alive
wishing to be held,
and yet,
foreign to that nitch
by the years.
Yearning to apprehend
the significance
of their days:
the fullness,
yet, separated
by that barrier
that finds them
backing away - inescapably -
and us,
backing toward them,
never to catch up,
never to find the importance
in their dreams.
Locked into our own current,
backing like crayfish in the river shallows
backing toward the sun, just now -
backing deep within us,
into the western sky.
Grand Island
1977
Grand Island Series
©1977 Crayfish — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.