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Drought, a poem by Roger Pfingston


Not the melody we expected

at the creek’s edge, rather an ugly 

silence clogged with sheets and tubes 

of sycamore bark, the stopped drift 

of sweet gum balls and cottonwood fluff,

mud-dried globs of twigs and leaves,

feathers, thin bones of whatever, and always

the human dross.

                          Easy to cross this un-

wanted shortcut while preferring the long 

way around to the singing duo of rock and water.




A retired teacher of English and photography, Roger Pfingston is the recipient of a Poetry Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and two PEN Syndicated Fiction Awards. He is the author of Something Iridescent, a collection of poetry and fiction, as well as five chapbooksthe most recent being What’s Given, available from Kattywompus Press.