Ferry Dream

Greg Friedmann

I’m sure this happened: we were on a ferry,
walking the deck among parked cars
as we crossed a wide river gleaming in summer sun
under a tall, deep blue sky; the boat pushing against water,
a warm breeze wisping our shoulder-length hair.

Among the parked cars was a black Cadillac,
windows closed, engine idling. Sitting alone inside,
an old man playing guitar. Thinking he might be famous,
I wanted to rap on the window; you, with a low
chuckle and gentle tug on my arm, held me back.

I’m sure this happened: I can still feel the thrum
of the boat’s engines, the prow thumping wavetops;
still smell the diesel exhaust, feel your touch
on my arm, saving me from myself; still see
that sky—so deep a blue you could see outer space.

I’m sure this happened: but I can never remember
what river we were crossing or where we were going.
I wake to ask you Was this real? and then remember
you’re dead  damn you

Living with his wife alongside a channel of the Potomac River in Northern Virginia, Greg Friedmann is occasionally inspired to write poetry which often reflects riparian themes, particularly on Nature's power to console and inspire. In addition to the Maryland Literary Review, his poetry has appeared in the Northern Virginia Review, Main Street Rag, the Poetry Society of Virginia’s anthologies, the Sky Island Journal, and other journals.