Women At The Russian River

“Sorta cigar shaped, ” she urged.

“Go get the ball, Orbis, ” said another.

“A twelve year old kid, imagine that, he got religion and melanoma.”

The Irish Setter emerged with a green tennis ball
and shook his fur.

“Are the knower and the known one? ” she asked,
directing her sunglasses into the shades.

Little Jonathan mopped his curls and asked
over and over “Are you happy, Mom? ”

Joni adjusted her halter. A speck greened across the sky;
Orbis leaped the waves.

“You know she died for love, honey.”

With her body still browning, Joni continued to glean
from that novel yellowing
shapes of her sounding yen.

by Richard Bunch

Comments (2)

A spiritual happening.....at a place....of extraordinary beauty! Excellent.
Very interesting. While it is more prosaic than poetic, it certainly does touch, and the juxtaposition of ideas forces the reader to think.