Missouri River, Great Falls, Montana, February, 1929

​I listened every time you told the tale, Mom.
An April frost might prompt you,
or crossing unfamiliar rivers on a car trip.

You’d say the current pulled the boy beneath a barrier
of ice no rescue crew could crack with axes.
I could almost hear the frozen river groan.

When you were five, Grandma ran off with another man.
Grandpa wrestled scratchy woolen tights on you
& set you on a barstool to entertain the men who drank with him.

You never spoke of Grandma till your bed-rest days, past 90,
cocooned in blankets even in the summer heat.
A different woman strode into your stories then,

beloved high school girlfriend who shared her bed with you
whenever Grandpa Full of booze, mistook me for my mother…
She rescued you & kept you safe as if behind a barrier of ice,

shielded from the hands of men.