Gudenå River, Silkeborg
By Michael Favala Goldman
April 15, 2026
April 15, 2026
The five river fountains still spout
wildly, like forty-two years ago,
that summer night when I fell for you
and we kissed the first time.
Today, you cold-plunge in the river,
while I hold your towel on the pier.
wildly, like forty-two years ago,
that summer night when I fell for you
and we kissed the first time.
Today, you cold-plunge in the river,
while I hold your towel on the pier.
Suddenly four young buff kayakers
come frothing by upstream
in the low morning light. They steer
around you, shoot up onto the beach,
then portage sprint around a small
path, and rush back into the river.
They race off upstream, while you
breaststroke amid the glittery, choppy
surface. Five minutes later, the kayakers
are back, repeat the action, complete with
portage, and return four more times,
before you climb the little ladder
and I hand you the towel.
come frothing by upstream
in the low morning light. They steer
around you, shoot up onto the beach,
then portage sprint around a small
path, and rush back into the river.
They race off upstream, while you
breaststroke amid the glittery, choppy
surface. Five minutes later, the kayakers
are back, repeat the action, complete with
portage, and return four more times,
before you climb the little ladder
and I hand you the towel.
I tell you I remember, years ago,
when you had something to do that I
was not part of, I would be waiting
impatiently for you to finish,
until we could come together.
How hard that must have been for you.
You kiss me, change out of your cold,
wet suit under the privacy of your caftan.
when you had something to do that I
was not part of, I would be waiting
impatiently for you to finish,
until we could come together.
How hard that must have been for you.
You kiss me, change out of your cold,
wet suit under the privacy of your caftan.
As we walk away, I look back,
there’s a single seagull
sitting on a post
just off the shore.
there’s a single seagull
sitting on a post
just off the shore.
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Award-winning author of nine poetry collections, Michael Favala Goldman is also a jazz clarinetist and translator of eighteen books of Danish literature. His work has appeared in dozens of publications including The New Yorker, Rattle, and The Harvard Review. He lives in Western Massachusetts, where he has been running poetry critique groups since 2018.
Website: michaelfavalagoldman.com |
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Author’s Note:
My wife is Danish, and this scene unfolded a few blocks from her sister’s house when we were visiting Denmark last year. Sometimes a poem unfolds right in front of me, and all I do is write it down. For me, this poem bridges physical vitality and emotional vulnerability. The seagull seems to represent the loneliness that can result from inability to share vulnerability. After reading this poem, I’m left with a feeling of somber gratitude. What feeling are you left with?