| when the gulls returned to the allegheny above lock nine, sometime after the mills became extinct, the human migrations slowed and the deer began to carve their path across the slag mountain. packs of wild dogs dragged their catch to the back seats of abandoned cars and the nights were still enough and wild enough for wolf call. the gulls found their way home the scent of clean water star maps, sunlight striking silver fry. You cant help but wonder where they had been all this time. they return and scream our forgotten history. if you are patient and have nothing else to do they might teach you how to fish again, and how to hold the rainbow in your hand the seances they convene reveal the secrets your fathers took with them-how white they fly against the steel sky soaring into our sorrow. You wonder how they do their dying and where. © Rick Forman |