Americana Stories – Poetry

Testimony: James River Tourists, by Sam Barbee

We prop on the rail among clamor: strolling lovers,
hum of bike spokes, rambling families with toddlers
in backpacks flapping arms. Steeples
on guard along hills – footholds high above surface
crests foaming behind hewed river-rock. 

Richmond’s horizon acclaims with buildings and towers.
White silos stenciled “Dixie Sugar.” 
Currents churn below where islands have formed.
Copel trees and stray grasses coexist in granite creases. 
Crowns of colorless thatch at attention in river silt.

Confederate-era ruins silenced on river’s edge.
White gulls convene on weedy rock outcrops
and timber posts of razed bridges burned during
Union assaults – spans as memoir retelling
of railroads, buckboards of building stones

hand-placed by brown backs. Charred pylons
echo myths and ballads. Limbless trunks lodged
on spillways anchor branch-web snag styrofoam
and plastic sacks. Water bottle labels peeled
by currents. Lidless coolers and lawn chair frames.

Overcast sky looms fringed by blue. Grey masonry
buttresses plead defiant as aluminum deck planks
clatter. Cabled siderails taut against water’s constant
surge of severed segments, we consent fragments
may be good as dominion gets. 

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