Mercedes Lawry


Little man, little vinegar man travels

down the wrinkled river. In sight,

the osprey in a glint between trees.

The fortunate line the banks

and the less fortunate cling to boulders.

Little sour man has nothing left

in his canvas bag. No benedictions, no wise

or pithy sentences. Morning haze mocks

escape but as the day lengthens,

brittle blue fingers ease the hours

and a slow confusion shows its bones,

for how would he know when the river

finally bleeds into sea, with no one to remark it.




Mercedes Lawry has published poetry in such journals as Poetry, Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Poetry East, The Saint Ann’s Review, and others. Thrice-nominated for a Pushcart Prize, she’s published two chapbooks, most recently “Happy Darkness”. She’s also published short fiction, essays and stories and poems for children. She lives in Seattle.



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