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.
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