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The River Lethe in Drought by Travis Park
This year
the forgetting
comes slowly.
Pebbles
remember
the pressure
of water.
Fish
dream
of currents
they no longer touch.
Along the banks,
the reeds
repeat
the wind's mistakes.
An old woman
kneels,
cups
an empty handful,
and still
drinks.
When rain returns,
the river
does not ask
our names.
It has carried
too many
already.
Bio
Travis Park is an Indiana poet and photographer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Modern Haiku, Presence, Ribbons, Wales Haiku Journal, McNeese Review, and other journals. His honors include multiple Poetry Society of Indiana awards.
Author's note
These poems grew out of my interest in what remains after myth has passed out of belief and into memory. I was interested in the way ancient stories can persist in landscapes, objects, and ordinary human experience even after their original worlds have disappeared.
