Photo by Scott Anderson
Old stone steps wedged in loam wind down the gorge to forest then river. Here shadows hide before noon and the world-weary congregate— cottonwoods, maples, oaks. Brown switchgrass. A hollowed out log worn smooth by wind, water, the work of being a chair. Unleashed dogs frantic with freedom and the feel of soft sand. Charred driftwood, rotting fish, rusting leaves, the bucket seat of a car. Two crushed DVDs—Deuce Bigalow Male Gigolo, Herbie Fully Loaded—and a thick-bearded Country Western Jesus in a fake wood frame.
Won’t you come below
to gather by the river
and share your story?
Sara Lynne Puotinen lives in Minneapolis near the Mississippi River Gorge where she conducts experiments in writing while moving, moving while writing, and doing both while losing her central vision to a degenerative eye disease. Her poetry has appeared in Longleaf Review, The Account, Door is a Jar, jmww, and more.