The Neponset River’s steady flow in September.
What’s more perfect than that? Barsomian
wonders as he stands in the meadow between
the abandoned train tracks and the gravel shore.
A boy fishing, he decides, with summer freckles
not yet faded, a mother choosing a lively
crawler to bait the boy’s hook. Even a large
black snake, which normally would frighten
the pair, is peaceful as it slowly twists
by in the current. But this wasn’t always
a meadow. Not long ago it was a dump,
never officially a landfill, just a place
where trash blew in off the highway and remained:
coffee cups, crushed cigarette packs, an endless
tangle of plastic wrappers. Barsomian cleaned
it up. One day he’d had his fill of whiskey
and wanted a spot to lie in the sun a while.
This seemed as good as anywhere. He returned
next day to find fresh deer prints where his body
had rested. So, he stuffed his bottle into
his coat pocket and got to clearing a space,
then made it wider. He cleared a path right down
to the water. Now he comes back often, does
some tidying. Today, there are cardinals singing
and monarch butterflies on milkweed. He’s even
witnessed a litter of fox kits stalking crayfish.
Yes, what could be more perfect? He reaches
into his pocket, taps the bottle once, withdraws
his hand. He sees the boy rear back and arc
a beauty of a cast to the deepest pool,
the mother waiting with an open creel.
He smiles, in the meadow, for this answer.
—
Richard Jordan’s poems appear or are forthcoming in Terrain, Cider Press Review, Connecticut River Review, Rattle, Valparaiso Poetry Review, New York Quarterly, Gargoyle Magazine, Sugar House Review, Tar River Poetry, South Florida Poetry Journal and elsewhere. His debut chapbook, The Squannacook at Dawn, won first place in the 2023 Poetry Box Chapbook Contest. He serves as an Associate Editor for Thimble Literary Magazine.
