Brushy Creek Incident

Brushy Creek Incident
by DIY Danna

The greenstone moss guardians of the park

are damning the torpedoes inside,

the sun god breaks through the clouds to warn me

of the crashing waves over round rocks.

He appears and sites on the log where Sam Bass sat

and schemed and daydreamed, I suppose:

the chill of late winter freezes time past,

but not the currents of thoughts,

endless sounds of meditative white noise

hushing my cries of helplessness

to kill the enemies inside.

Because the battle rages in stages of grief.


The tears of the creek never dry out either,

for joy or sorrow from the sky

doesn’t stop the crying in my dry season

when friends can’t express empathy

without the fear of losing hold

of broken hands that cannot mend quickly,

they cannot understand the limbo

of limbs that want to linger, grow longer…

Yet over time, friends and our limbs bend, weather

and snap like twigs in a storm.

The fragments of still living trees

fall apart in rushing water, become sediment–for new lives.

3 thoughts on “Brushy Creek Incident

  1. I like parts of it–the turn of “damning the torpedoes inside” connecting to “kill the enemies inside,” the play of “they cannot understand the limbo of limbs that want to linger, grow longer”–but can’t quite grasp what the “brushy creek incident” is: the battle of relationships (?), surrender of empathy to fear(?), and how the creek acts as its metaphor. The ending–“the fragments of still living trees…become sediment-for new lives”–seems a pat uplift, which doesn’t resolve the obvious inner torment expressed.

  2. Randall, you just made me smile an cringe at the same time, in a good way. ‘Brushy Creek Incident’ is intended to be part one of three personally revealing, self-impressionist poems, but I added the last line because I wasn’t sure about revealing more “inner torment”. Perhaps I should damn the torpedoes, consider this a work in progress, and include the original version in a chapbook. Maybe you should be my editor.

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