One Single Impression: Underground
There is a river
Running underground in Waterbury.
It didn't start there but was put in its place
By wise men reading from the ancient script for
Planning and progress.
The river is an open secret to those in the know,
Those who have been there for a while
(Even if they come from Massachusetts or Maine),
Or at least are in the habit of drinking wine after hours
In local dining establishments in the historic district--
Which, conveniently is also the technology zone,
Where the reputable restaurants are--
With the right people at the right time.
If you have to ask, you are not on the inside,
Which is the right side.
You don't know where anything used to be;
And, really, should we take the time to explain
As we stand at the window and wonder
How all this progress brought so much traffic
Through what used to be the front yard?
It's how it is in the little ville the rivers of which
Once long ago measured its pulse and prosperity.
When a foreigner stomps his foot near where the river
Used to be and hears an echo,
He might wonder if trolls or goblins have carved a home
He will have no idea how deeply
He disturbs the pulse of an ancient city
As gifted in forgetting
As in remembering,
As in holding on.
One Single Impression