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Hard Held
by Kristina WoodhillThis story breached
in the drizzling rain,
just south of Riggins
just north of shame,
the last page was scratched
like a cat's cornered rage
and spread like confetti on speed.
Spring on the Salmon
rides passion's wild swell,
water and rafters alike
in its spell,
the boulder-made rapids
make love, unashamed,
sated as snow melts are freed.
Misery courted the gal as a kid,
married her long before
coupled with Sid;
what Sid didn't waste
as her red drained to pink,
you could squeeze
from a dried desert seed.
Blind eyes will tell you
it couldn't be helped,
the signs had been hung
long ago, long ago,
the scarred, battered signs
had been hung.
“Sid rhymes with sin,”
was his in-your-face claim,
her eyes kissed his mouth
shunning caution's red flame;
a whispering,
touched
finger tips to his skin,
her itch for him scratching at need.
She with her open-sore
soul on her sleeve,
he with old crosses nailed,
never believed;
what the sidelines dispatched
from this wrestling match
was the fact that their eyes
shaded mean, manic mean.
Blind eyes will tell you
it couldn't be helped,
warning shouts drowned
long ago, long ago,
warning shouts
river roar drowned.
Whirl wind nights followed
whirl wind days,
their twisted affair left them
cloyed in a haze;
the spray in their eyes
from the river's swift rise
was the veil on which delusions feed.
Just as the river's rush
raced to the sea,
just as the banks
held back chunks
of debris,
Sid and the gal's struggle
ripped at their seams,
the final divide ax-split deep.
Blind eyes will tell you
it couldn't be helped,
the echoed howls
rang bank to bank,
how they rang,
the echoed howls
bank-to-bank rang.
There lies the gal
in the mess that she made,
crimson the river below,
heart beat's shade,
here marks the scrapings,
the screams from the rapings
of tires on the old road,
the black tracks Sid laid.
And the river holds hard
to its own.
04/20/2011
Author's Note: Another one I worked on for the Way Down in the Hole contest. I opted for Three Sisters. Riggins, Idaho is a quaint little town along the Salmon River where white water rafting is big business and serious fishermen/women keep tabs on the river and the fish in it, where the river pretty much runs the show.
Posted on 04/20/2011
Copyright © 2025 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 04/20/11 at 07:05 PM ...oooh k-gal. a gulper, ma'am. is it ok to love this? nice saga-ette. |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 04/20/11 at 09:04 PM wow! This is great! I love how you arrange the words....so creative....and the syllables just flow.....you go, girl |
| Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 04/21/11 at 01:13 AM Dis da blues!! Gotta be set to music! Really outstanding! |
| Posted by Linda Fuller on 04/21/11 at 02:04 AM This tawdry tale barrels along like a raft in the white water of its setting - love it. |
| Posted by Jody Pratt on 07/14/11 at 06:11 AM This is the first poem of yours that I've read and I must say, you've set my expectations high. :) |
| Posted by Timothy Wilson on 07/21/11 at 03:16 PM Just... freaking amazing. You really outdid yourself on this one. Excellent poem! I printed it out to keep, and I never do that, even with my own poems just... wow! |
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