Herring Run
By Craig Kirchner
PROMPT—Never will I forget ...
I’m six, been mapping this out for about a year.
Our row house faces the park,
two long city blocks wide,
split down the middle by the small river,
large stream, Herring Run.
Running north and south over the run
with a bridge is Route 1,
connects us with the rest of the world.
East is the park, which I know every inch of,
west is mostly woods, which is my heart of darkness.
Rofie has two rules, don’t wade in the run,
it is polluted, and do not cross the four lane Route 1.
The plan is to cross the bridge to the other side of the Run
and walk the horse trail under the bridge
to the great unexplored woods.
Today is the day, with a swag and self confidence
that could grow hair on your chest, I follow the trail
under the bridge and the woods is outstanding.
There is a stone cabin, huge trees, squirrels,
chipmunks, snakes and turtles.
I walked what seemed miles, but wasn’t,
and came to a new bridge where the horses turn around
and head back east. The trail dead ends.
Just past the bridge is a fountain,
spewing fresh cold spring water.
People are filling jugs to take home.
Fresh spring water emptying into the polluted run.
There is no longer a trail, the woods become dense,
no telling what lies beyond.
Somewhere west of here, if you believe the signs,
there is something polluting the run.
At six, I am skeptical of the signs,
but I’m also thinking if I could find this evil,
make a plan and dismantle it,
maybe the herring would return.
Craig Kirchner loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. He has been published in Chiron Review, Journal of Expressive Writing, Main Street Rag, and more than 100 others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig can be found at Bluesky. He writes from Jacksonville, Florida.
