Crossing the River

by Sharon Chmielarz


The ferry is busy. An oily odor

greets us. And then our car

rolls on and we’re crossing the river,


turbines churning.

Feeling queasy, leaving

green summer behind?

A funny thing, you get used


to low chatter on board,

the louder river and the motors.

The ferryman’s an old timer,

a stout heart who delivers

his passengers to the other side.