Giving Evidence

John Grey

The questions keep returning
to the banks of the river,
where many hands grabbed her
like they were hauling in a fishing net.

Did you see their faces?
Or what they were wearing?
No, she saw only eagle’s nests
and the tremor of the wind.

Now, I am afraid, she says,
of the current, of the ripples,
of the waxing moon
and any place damp and mossy.

And she can still feel their bodies
but thankfully not the provocation.
For if she were them,
she wouldn’t do what they did.