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The Fourth River

A Journal of Nature and Place-based Writing Published by the Chatham University MFA Program
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The River

March 14, 2025

By Nick Conrad

                                                         the Paria River                   

The unmeasured moment suddenly

a chasm, a slot canyon, deep, narrow,

down which I raced, a river of tumult,

a flash flood careening off wave worn walls

 

bouncing into and out of dead-end

box canyons spilling storm driven through narrows,

a whoosh of air signaling my approach

as I churned on through each too snug slit,

 

each slim egress, each choke point, the rock

too smooth to afford handholds and me

brimming skyward, spinning spinned spun,

a canyon roar, gravelly voiced,

 

that started as an echo down

from the north edge of Bryce, a murmur

spilling out of Little Henderson,

a gurgle from Water Canyon, as mumblings

 

from once dry washes that soon were not just

mere meanders, but, a babbling made louder

by Tropic Ditch Falls, by the waters

from Mossy Cave and Glory Cove,

 

that rambled on out of Cope Canyon,

banking through Amphitheater

and Cottonwood Canyon, joining

in time Little Creek, the Henrievile--

 

itself a shout down from Shurtz Brush Creek,

from Paria Hollow--a surging

cacophony from Wildcat Wash on

past the Kodachrome Cliffs, joining

 

Rockspring Creek’s garrulous churning

waters tumbling on down past Deer Creek

Canyon; by Deer Range, a river 

guarded by the Toadstool Hoodoos;

 

the bone dry flats of Telegraph Wash

as if shattered anew its splintered

passes soon rain drenched washes dawdling

at first but soon dwindled down straights,

 

claustrophobic channels of swirl

and eddy, of riotous confluences

such as Buckskin Gulch where petroglyphs

told tales of hunters and the hunted,

 

of closed canyons gaping like knife wounds

to the east, of the Twin Buttes to the south,

of dinosaur claw tracks exposed

on a distant plateau, of spent cliff

 

flotsam stranded on Bone Yard’s slope,

of Chihuly-like wave canyons,

of Top Rock Arch eyeing The Alcoves

etched multitudes as I screamed past,

 

flooding the broadening canyon,

rumbling on toward Lee’s Ferry; there,

a muddy sluice, riffle quickened.

By Nankoweap, a fury long spent.

 

Nick Conrad’s poems have appeared recently in Acumen (U.K.), Blueline, Cloudbank, North Dakota Quarterly, Plants and People Journal, Red Rock Review Literary Journal, Stand (U.K.), and Third Wednesday. A poem of his was included in Magma Poetry Review’s (U.K.) special Anthropocene issue. His first book, Lake Erie Blues (Urban Farmhouse), appeared in 2020. His podcast for All Write in Sin City aired in 2021.

In Tributaries Washington Tags Nick Conrad

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