Where the river ran - Alia Ayer

[Lawrence Robinson]

Where the river ran

Where the river used to run,
there is only sand
and things people lost from boats long ago,
buried flip-flops and sunglasses.

Summer Sundays were for floating 
in a reliable current,
guided by gravity and longing 
for something that would turn
an ordinary day in August
into a highlight in the Book of Memories:
that was a special day.

There is silence now
where the river ran through,
as wind blows dust
like pyre smoke.

Summer Sundays are for gratitude,
for the fleeting moments of joy
that we collected like polished pebbles,
when there were sun hats and ice cream
and water.

	- Alia Ayer 
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