by Mariah Noel
We had heard no water rushing for near a week | Our downstream cabin was sore dry and throats dusty
Young travellers in their wagon stopped to board a meal and bandy words
Over potatoes they brought, the mush meat we shared — they tell us news from the east — and upriver
-You hear the skirmish last week?
-Twixt the brutes of the hill and the swine of the plains?
–Ay, geste. Stayed hid and hoped they would nay come.
Follow we did
The river on our side reduced to dry bedrock and crunched crayfish
There, a great blockade stood / one of mud and sticks
Shook our heads – but the young travellers beckoned us to step round
| They had washed downriver |
remnants of a victorless battle
| Swept away among cannon debris and fellow bodies |
Beavers swimming around a dam built from bodies and bones.
Mariah Noel studies Acting and Literature. Her flash fiction piece, “The Patch of Darkness”, was featured in Sick Lit Magazine.