The stream runs calf-high
At a pace that carries dead leaves and little more.
A tired mother rolls up tattered sleeves to the elbows,
Her torn jeans to bruised knees.
She dips her blistered toes in the water.
The mountain runoff numbs them instantly,
Bastardizing panic with relief,
But choice is defunct now
And daylight wanes while stomachs growl in the distance.
With a courageous breath, she tiptoes in.
The frigidness jolts the air out of her.
She clutches her sifting pan tightly and plunges it
Into the subdued flow to scoop the bottom's sediment.
Murky water rains through the pan's screen
As she lifts her hopes to inspect the prospective treasures.
A slight, continuous shake expels the worthless contents
Until, in the dying light, a twinkle catches her eye.
Her children will eat. She will too.
For tonight.
Thanks to a merchant's generosity
Upon her deliverance
Of fool's gold.
2 comments:
Here's today's poem. I'll try commenting on all of your poems tomorrow. Nite.
There are some very strong images here. The coldness of the water, the merchant's generosity(or foolishness), and how battered the woman is. I think that you could be more economical with your words, but the overall effect is quite nice. I really like the idea of highlighting the toil and the momentary reward.
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