Page 27 - Contrast1985v27
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LOOKING FOR BOTTOM
It was hot
And it was Sunday
And I ran along the dirt road
Hopping over the fresh tire tracks
As if they could kill me.
I ran down this road to follow the sirens
To a clearing around a pond where
An ambulance waited.
They said he was down there - dead.
I looked hard
At the still surface
But couldn't see him.
A boy, eighteen, drowned.
I remember me standing on a large rock
That thrust into the pond,
Looking hard, but not seeing a thing.
I ran home after the ambulance left,
Being very careful to avoid the ruts.
Bill McCarthy
PAST HURTS
The blade stuns the finger Nancy Sekira
to sudden paleness.
Oozing slowly,
wet melancholy
seeps from its chamber,
rushes to follow
cracks and creases
time has marked
on the hand.
Rivers of red
dry and crack,
turn to dust.
Washed away
and forgetten.
Sandra Carlson
- 2S-
