19 April 2023

By Philip Kuepper

As I was walking across Mystic bridge this morning,
two women passed, rowing, beneath where I walked,
the blades of their oars weaving circles in the silk
of the river. Their shells shone,
in the already hot April light,
hot for Connecticut.
One rowed an absolutely straight course,
the other, now and then, off true,
one, the seam sewer,
the other, the designer.
From where I stood, the spread of their oars
appeared wings attempting flight,
oars, wings,
a human attempt to reconnect
with what we lost as we evolved.
I continued across the bridge,
my mind taking flight with that thought.

(13 April 2023)