on each side of a river
two peoples dwelled
The Reeds to the east and The Rites to the west

when The Reeds took on their opponents
they charged in to loot and ravage
The Rites had no choice but to let them in
they weren’t only defenseless but somehow willing
they stood still for the slaughter
with their eyes forward and wide

The Reeds then froze before them
staring at their tender feet, waiting.

feather stuck in the reeds
nothing left to write on
but a white bed sheet

it became a tug of war
what better to tug at
clean, white and virgin
who will mark it up and who will wrinkle it
who will wrap it around, or lay it flat
The Rites need it
The Reeds can’t let it go
one needs its space
the other – its warmth
2008