The Mississippi isn’t the monster
it used to. One doesn’t have to be
God to walk upon it. Only memories
remain of its heaving waves, vast
shoulders almost obliterating its shores,
where even a child can cross it now
without ever lifting her skirt, only by
treading as she skips from rocks
to stones. It may not ever regain its
depths again, its range due to a lack
of rain, but remain a cradle of battered
earth, offering up barges and boats,
a myriad of black folk bones for
Emmett Till’s statue to stand on.

Willie James King has new work forthcoming in Urthona Poetry Magazine. He is currently working new and selected poems, which he hopes to sooner than later seek the right publisher for. He resides in Montgomery, AL. He has previous work in Poetry Bay, Walt’s Corner as well as other distinguish outlets for poetry.