Category Archives: Ferryman

plenty

The Ferryman is dancing a jig, high knees and fancy feet. He is flinging something out of his pockets into the river. “Plenty for everyone,” he sings. “Plenty, plenty.” He is attracting fish. He is attracting a crowd on the … Continue reading

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singing gratitudes

The Ferryman paints rays of red and black rising from my eyes, arching across my brow.  He runs his finger down the memory braid the Wellspring left in my hair. “Now you’re ready,” he says. I lift my arms, face … Continue reading

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to see the life come into all of this

I am trying to cultivate a garden on my bank of the river. I have laid down rich soils and fenced off the rows, but the hot wind off the plain keeps leaching all the moisture out. I stand with … Continue reading

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the necessary fee

The ferryman spits and reaches into the water where the roots of an old tree gnarl the bank. He pulls out my head by the hair. Just that – my head and nothing else. My hair is laced with weed … Continue reading

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this work in progress

The Ferryman is stretched out on the dock, hands behind his head, face to the sky. The river sings softly, laps the dock, rocks the boat in its moorings. There will be no crossing today. I turn away, content with … Continue reading

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exchange

The Ferryman is rowing hard through stormy waters. I sit tucked up tight with my head ducked away from the wind and spray. I wonder if it’s worth it to go out in all this weather. Does it make sense … Continue reading

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across the bridge

We cross the bridge to the other side. The Ferryman, he walks with me. Tall and unwavering, his presence helps me keep my bearings. There is a large crowd milling about. We stop at the base of the bridge, not … Continue reading

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just wait

“What’s this?” There’s a bridge across the river, where there was none before. A stone bridge, arching over. It surprises me. Why would the Ferryman allow this? It crowds him out. Crowds his service. I wouldn’t think he would like … Continue reading

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now go to bed

The ferryman stands, spits to the side, walks the length of the dock to me, his feet making a hollow thud on the soft wood. I am bedraggled. There’s mud in my hair. He shakes his head sadly, asks for … Continue reading

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river bottom

From the firelight into the water ~ The river bottom mud is soft and still. It calls to me. I think I might lay the weight of me down there a while. But no, the river flow has me, lifts … Continue reading

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