The 2River View  

Terry Savoie

Acorn Rain

Hardened, honey-
colored acorns
a wrought-iron table
with a one note, two note
syncopation, non-

stop, insistent,
drubbing the roof,
rolling into gutters,
pummeling downspouts.
If only we could get some sleep—
we think (we

in all this racket,
but all we do
is get a late-August drumming
of acorn rain, argumentative,
keeping us fixed on

the ceiling
fan & heaven’s
pelting & coded message
on & on & no
relief nor any idea
of ever being set free.


Begging Forgiveness

I lie on my back, pull
a light spring
blanket up & over my head

allowing my toes to breathe, un-
covering them

so they become lily pads
waiting for the morning fog to lift
off Pickerel Lake.

Closing my eyes tightly, I pray
for forgiveness

as black spots dart
before me
like spawning bluegill swimming

in the shallows, circling
their pebbled, shoreline nests

with eyes wide open
but vacant as my confessor’s eyes
in his practiced indifference,

while their tails sign
my absolution.