Postcard of the Dam the Mill Stood By

Of course the mill's gone & now

the paper reports the dam may go too—

there've been engineer reports, conservationists,

budgets drawn. In the photo

a man in a fedora stands in front

looking at the white splash of river in

sunlight & its own wrestling. Behind him:

mill smoke. Some days driving at dusk

I see the factory stacks of Weyerhauser filling

the sky, light grey vapor against darkening grey,

& I can't believe I live in this town,

can't believe I've stood by that dam &

watched the river writhe

like a soul untangling from a body.

Right there, the water's never still

even in these days of droughts & curses.

They've built a bar where the mill once stood

& the people there talk about the river

& talk about the trees

& get quiet when the right song comes on the juke box,

ground their cigarettes out in gold ashtrays

& laugh louder than expected

as if suddenly recalling a deep and hidden sadness.