Awaiting the Ferry
by Devon Balwit
For the first hour, you are mostly
with us, head turning
where we point, tongue lathing
but as the evening wears and you weary,
you retreat, eyes
cadaverous, each breath a squeezing
By night’s end, when you topple
to the floor, it fails
to surprise, you already so far
along the dark road
we’ve no clue how to regather you.
Body and soul
have little use for one another, yet
the knot’s not simple
to unpick. We lift your walker
across mud and root, settle
you in your seat, pay Charon’s fare
to home you.
* * * * *
Devon Balwit teaches in Portland, OR. She has six chapbooks and three collections out, among them: We are Procession, Seismograph (Nixes Mate Books), Risk Being/Complicated (A collaboration with Canadian artist Lorette C. Luzajic); Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders); and Motes at Play in the Halls of Light (Kelsay Books). Her individual poems can be found here as well as in The Cincinnati Review, The Carolina Quarterly, Fifth Wednesday, the Aeolian Harp Folio, Red Earth Review, Queen's College Quarterly, The Fourth River, The Free State Review, Red Paint Hill, and more.