Wide Mouth of the River
Four children on a path
between the milkweed field
and the silver river,
the path a narrow muddy string,
nothing like the silver of the river or its big wide mouth.
heads hung down, on the path after supper:
Makeshift path, makeshift stupid
boring game, real plans dissolving
like a muddy string in the dirty rain.
The path and the children and the hidden moon.
If you ask us today, even now,
when we are too old to feel this way,
our voices will crack like river ice when we
talk about it: We were betrayed
by our little sister at supper. She told
our father about our plans, she said
we are not your children anymore
we are really pirates, have really always been
are leaving at dusk
for the mouth of the river and you
will never not hold us in your arms again.