Today's poem is by Leslie Noyes Harrison
The Park Interpreter Speaks
The glaciers carved this valley so long ago
that all the world was ice. Glaciers, you know,
are like glass, a liquid so patient, so slow
that even the rocks are changed by their touch.
It's all a question of force: you dam so much
water and the weight will swallow each
yesterday of land, the places we thought
would last. But no matter how much weight,
how huge the volume, the skyscraper height
of billions of gallonsstill far, far
underneath, that same old river
still flows, its banks still littered
with picnic trash and kisses, and marked
by hooves where the milk cows came to drink.
The state's divers can see, I like to think,
as they enter the drowned river, the imprint
of blankets and baskets, elbows and hips,
dents where fishing poles leaned, and the forked sticks.
Copyright © 2003 Leslie Noyes Harrison All rights reserved
from Southwest Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved