I’ve already written of living along the Susquehanna and being introduced to the trail that wove through a wooded strip between the water and the freeway.
The site included a bridge that stood closed to vehicular traffic and a low dam that once diverted water to power cigar factories along the riverbanks. Only part of the foundations of the mills remained, along with some of the weir, which filled with moody water after a heavy rainfall.
At the time I was living in an inner-city neighborhood – Italian by day, Afro-American by night. The riverside provided a mostly private escape into nature.
It was enough, though, to give rise to poetry. Follow its seasons and flow in my new chapbook by clicking here.