Now We Drown in the Cold Horse River

“The Fiddle Playing Librarian Dream,” “Now We Drown in the Cold Horse River” and “We Will Eat Silver Moon Cakes Til Dawn”

Issue 23 by Jeremy McEwen

The Fiddle Playing Librarian Dream

An older couple needed help

Finding a book at the library

So they asked a lady with a cart of books for assistance

But the lady couldn’t help them

Instead she referred them to

A young man at a help desk

In the middle of the library

But the young man at the help desk

Could not help them either and said

‘You need to talk to Maggie

She is our head librarian’

But Maggie was nowhere to be found

So the young man called Maggie’s cellphone

And it rang and it rang and it rang and it rang

But little did he know

Maggie’s cellphone was at the bottom

Of her purse sitting on a street bench

Just outside the library

While Maggie played fiddle

In an old-timey string band

Now We Drown in the Cold Horse River

The cold horse river spills Indian eyes

Angel feathers burn in gold smoke

Soul civilizations were robbed of serene mirrors

Creek hearts fall over the dream cliff

Telepathic windows catch dead bird words

The good-bye tunnel links lost voices to the underworld

Old town river banks were piled with golden corn charms

Truth roots were eaten on deer dance nights

The blind chief would bathe in hot buffalo blood

Why did we kill the wind vision people?

Our wicked concrete maze only leads to black dog gods

Now we reach out our empty pale arms for the dead moon tribes

They were the ghost eagles of heavenly bliss

They drank the rose flamed remedy stews

Now we swim in the cold horse river

Now we drown in the cold horse river

We Will Eat Silver Moon Cakes Til Dawn

Do not flinch at blinking blackbirds

Be calm in the face of fluttering faith

Let false feathers pile ankle high on the floor

Watch them drown in the dry bird bath

Nature is smart enough not to say too much

Instead she paints pictures on paper clouds

The sunlight is a million long yellow quill pens

Last night’s garments dangle from naked stars

Let us feast on white tigers in the garden

Slice at the stripes don’t cut against fur grain

After dinner the sun will run back home to god

And we will eat silver moon cakes til dawn

About the Author

Jeremy McEwen

Website

Jeremy McEwen lives on a small farm in rural Tennessee and writes surreal folk poetry. He has an M.A. in Creative Writing with a concentration in Poetry. He self published his first collection of poems, FRUITLAND, in September 2018 and has a spoken word poetry album, BARNYARD DREAM POEMS, to be released on April 1, 2019.