Tuesday Poem

Kettle Island

the round orange
sun is about to dissolve
on the tongue of misery

island    like the thin body
of god's son    smoke black
stacks from salem power

plant ruin the brown
horizon    i can smell the
salt    hear the foghorn

my father walks on tired
legs    we talk about red
sox    politics    mostly

i listen    he is an old bigot
& i love him but the hard drinking
of our lives has left narrow

streets for forgiveness    we
can only stare back at time
like two men suddenly alone

in the kitchen over
beers    after ma's funeral
we got closer    i was nine years
sober    he wasn't    truth

is i was angry & when i wrote
it down    it hurt him
there's an eroded place

a beat down causeway
where cows used to walk
to kettle island    now water

rushes over it    i touch my father's
arm & we walk in small
silences to the coast


by Jim Bell
from Crossing the Bar
Slate Roof: a Publishing Collaborative, 2005