With
the Wissahickon, Again
The way this sand triumphs in a
stream swift from September rains . . .
giving little resistance to the greater
force,
always moving away from where it came,
becoming smaller and resisting less,
always less.In the company
of neighbors, or relatives,
sand rests, and listens to little
explosions of falling water.
The way
these trees grow free while never seeing
another place . . .
welcoming storms perhaps,
when parting with limbs or leaves
is done with such ease.
Or
welcoming the coming of winter, perhaps,
when even then they still grow,
still. And inside, deep within, a tree
hums, planning his gardens for the
spring.
—Jeremy
Frey has published in The Mennonot,
Gospel Herald, Common Ground, and Siren's
Silence. Currently he lives in a sort
of insulated shack on a horse farm in the
Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, and is
applying to MFA programs focusing on
poetry.
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