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Susquehanna

by Kevin E. Pittack Jr. 


These waters were never intended
to purify, and it seems doubtful
that this river was designed as an irrigation
project by a higher power;
like so much else along its muddy banks,
it just happened.
 
Voices mingle throughout the valley
and generate a deceptive current, a
sublime flow of notes that create
a song composed of tears--
of joy and sorrow,
of pain and triumph--
that echoes off the hills
like a lullaby.
 
Between the river’s origin and destination
it finds its heart
in our humble fields and mountains;
the river takes the character
of the faces that line the murky shores.
They populate towns that once
were more, enclaves that previously
shined and radiated contentment,
but the flow of the river offered promise.
 
With the passing of seasons
the hills emerald hues fade
with the arrival of blustery winds and snow
before reemerging in brilliant grandeur,
and then again melting into a brown soup.
Still, always, the reflective waters move
at a glacial pace.
 
Always renewing, always flowing,
always progressing through our lives,
the river,
carrying dreams and the vessels which contain them,
forever pure and unimpeded.
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Kevin E. Pittack Jr. is a resident of Pennsylvania, and his poetry has appeared twice in Door is a Jar Magazine. He aspires to one day write like Robert Frost and to be as cool as Rod Serling.