Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

Night Tug

by Jean-Mark Sens

 

We passed under the train
jumped over the fence
one foot after another
on the new, closed riverside park
a smallness of rain meeting the Mississippi’s edge
river traffic sparse in the night hour
their sounds slow coming in the delay of their wakes
ripples like our own voices in the mist
a huge one-eye container ship
the black tall pilot house, the black hull
black into black as if it were the night it was hauling in its entrails
intense, deep, ponderous,
a silver lining along its sides cutting into the waves
words detached from the air one at a time
lights quivering along the river lips’ curvatures
the bend the ship turns
into the current width
++++++then catches
a breath
++++++small slant toward the estuary,
river mouth.