Drownings    

My friend and I sat in silence
on the rocks of the flood wall,
watching as the river rescue
dragged for her brothers.

It was horrifying and simple:
boats, nets, bodies.
The two of us, waiting.

Years later in a letter she says,
"I still see him in the net."
I, too, see him, the dark load,
the way they used the boat's edge
for leverage. He hung for a moment
and water poured from his head.

The other brother was lost,
taken away in the undertow.
Watery grave, grave of water,

on hands and knees we crawled
down the boulders at the levee.
We slid into the water,
the tails of our shirts floating out.

The wake rolled toward us
from the barges going north,
and we cupped the Mississippi
in our hands. We could not
see through it.