Posting your writing

I'm hoping others will post something they've written lately. No need to worry about people stealing what you write since just a few of us know about the blog in the first place. To me this is a place to post written sketches, not necessarily finished work.
Rhys

The Ohio River

The river took its time
Held and slowed by wooded hills
On either side
Roads and driveways
Sliced to the left
Into mysterious fields
And ancient woods
It all felt familiar
And lonely
Removed and far away

Here it was the river
And one road following
Its curves
Revealing old summer cabins
And tattered resorts
From long ago
Revealing places
Where poverty will take you
Down by the river
Where everyone is poor
And used to simple living
Where not much has to be enough

There were tobacco fields
Waving bright yellow leaves
Then dark curing barns
Drying the leaves in the river air
Roads racing up into the woods
Contained mysteries
And quarrels
Love and families
Bound tight to this land
This river
Roads that beckoned to me
Dared me

Tiny towns slowed
My city metabolism, whispering
Stop here, stay here
Look at the river
But I had clocks and calendars
Time and destinations
Maps with calculations
Scribbled on the side

The river rolled slow and wide
And green
On the right
Keep driving keep driving
Look at the river
I had to get to Delaware
Promising myself I would return

The Watcher

She walks in feral eyed, suspicious of everyone and waits by the counter; lank black hair gone scraggly and tangled; gray velour jog suit with all the velour worn off. She stands tall and nervous, edgy like a criminal, watching the door. Coffee in hand, she always goes to the sofa by the window and eats Chips Ahoy cookies from a tattered gray bag. Watching.

I try not to look, but she stares at me from across the room. Awkward, inappropriate staring with unblinking eyes. A business man sits in the other sofa and gets out his laptop. Near her. Oblivious to her accusing eyes shouting at him. How could he? Sit there? There in all of the cafe? She pulls her bag of snacks close and hugs it like a doll. Watching. Watching. Her eyes are reading "The Dozens" on all of us. Wanting all of us to just, GO AWAY! I read the paper and settle in. Coffee almost gone I look up, and see her scanning the cafe, trying to make sense of it, trying to piece together a reality that works. Then her eyes puzzle the room like an alien asked to gather information about the beings on this planet. Taking notes. Chewing her hair like a child.

Suddenly she stands up and moves with frightened speed to the restroom in the back. Fast and silent like a ghost. And then she races back to the sofa, takes her coffee cup and stands by the trash can, draining down the last drop. She stands like a dancer with a dancer's sense of movement and with a flourish, slams the cup into the can, like "take that!" Grabs her bag and keys and is out the door. To where? Keys to what?