This is the last official poem of the 2010 Collins Poetry Residency because the journal was supposed to end today. However, each day I will continue to post poems that I have and will receive up to 27 October 2010 at 11:59 PM. But, I will only post poems from poets I have not yet published and those that meet the prompt.
Your submissions made this journal successful. We published poems from established poets to emerging poets who submitted a poem for the first time. Poets across the oceans, young and mature poets, poets from the eastern U.S. and many poets from Illinois/Iowa Quad Cities submitted. I applaud you and please applaud each other.
We must also applaud the Midwest Writing Center for sponsoring this residency and we must give an ovation to Robin Throne. She brainstormed the concept of this residency, she set up and kept this journal running free of technical issues, she worked behind the scenes, she made the broadside a reality and she was my mentor throughout the residency. Robin poured the cement for the foundation where we the poets built this community.
I hope to see you tonight at the Midwest Writing Center and hear you read your poems!
Thank you
- Salvatore Marici.
Now here is the poem for 27 October 2010.
Richard (or better known as Dick) Stahl has said, “When my father delivered milk in downtown Davenport, Ia., I roamed the levee and Le Claire Park and was inspired by seeing the beauty of the Mississippi River early in the morning. I am still inspired by the rolling power of its currents. I was the first Quad-City Arts Poet Laureate from 2001 to 2003.” In his context statement, he added, "I read that the Mississippi River is a trickle of what it once was. I can only wonder how wide and powerful it was in geological time.” He emphasizes his desire for experiencing the Mississippi River’s birth with the repetition of 'I want to'."
I Want to See the Birth of the Mississippi River
I want to see its first little fingers slide down
the dry land to make
the valley
of the Mississippi.
I want to catch its pure waters come
like a pulsing artery.
I want to touch the glacial melt rise, cut deeper, roll stronger,
muscle its way with sharp
elbows, heaving chests, gathering breaths
at every stretch
of its youth tickling my toes.
I want to step back at the last moment
as the gushing waters widen the shorelines
and race their way south
in a slab
of mist showering
my face.
I want to stand on higher ground
as the water spreads its corrugated skin
under the burning sun
to catch the stippled spots
in its troughs.
I want to hear the roar
of waves shooting skyward
and shoving me back
in full retreat
before the charging
breakers
catch me chest high.
I want to believe
the inspiring birth of this waterway
connects
and consecrates
my watch
with the first wash of its
sacred waters.
