Scrapbook

By George Scarbrough George Scarbrough
Green and brown current of river:
Reverberant iron bridge: crossing over,
Woman and child fixed at the center,
Holding hands and both weeping:

Because her child is weeping: because
His mother weeps: because the river, far
Underfoot, glitters through cracks
In the wooden flooring that widen

Perceptively as he steps.
Ahead, heightened by a hill, dwarfed
In yellow trees, the house is made ready.
All should have been primer-perfect,

Including the train rushing headlong
Past the station, always in arrears,
Never deigning to stop and put down
A stepping-stool. Nothing more is given:

Except perhaps an assignment of cause:
A plank has fallen away to the river.
The two figures clasp hands across the gulf,
Rocking back and forth in soundless

Oscillation there on the bridge
Where my mind proposes to leave them
In place, my mother and me,
On the first day of school, 1921.

Source: Poetry (September 1999).

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This poem originally appeared in the September 1999 issue of Poetry magazine

September 1999

Biography

George Scarbrough recently received the James Still Award from the Chattanooga Conference on Southern Literature. He is working on a book in memory of Han Shan and his friend Shi-te.

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Poems by George Scarbrough

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Family & Ancestors, Living, School & Learning, Landscapes & Pastorals, Youth, Activities, Nature, Relationships

Poetic Terms Imagery, Free Verse, Metaphor

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