30 March 2025

By Philip Kuepper

The rowers shivered
during the first heat of spring.
The river turned
a cold face to them.
Glasslike, gray,
dark pewter, in fact,
it reflected nothing,
certainly not their effort,
as their oars stirred
the almost molten-like water.
Sluggish. That was the effect
the river emanated.
And the rowers’ muscles rebelled.
They were out of practice.
They were still clothed in winter sleep.
They wore singlets of goose bumps.
But the rowers slowly woke
to the pull of their oars,
the pull of their boats,
the pull of the river,
the current they pulled against
clothing them in strength.

(23 February 2025)