Two special women in my life just passed and I find myself filled with nostalgia for my own mother and for a childhood that was, by all measures, a good one. And yet there were tragedies, as with all childhoods. This poem, in this new year, takes me into the heart of a few of these memories...
Forty-five years ago, Colorado’s South Platte Riverleft her banks and thrust herself at the tall cottonwoodswhose deep roots until that moment drank matter-of-factly from her mossy waters nearthe frog pond ...