A Parenthesis of Texas Rivers

Jan Seale

August 2, 2026

On Sunday afternoons long ago,

in the Canadian River

top-hatting the Panhandle

we teens waded in, churned our feet,

dared the quicksand reach our waists.

Then we screamed our boyfriends 

into action. They dived in, 

finding handles on our suits

and beyond, to extricate us, 

lust championing over danger.

We did this again and again 

while the river danced, benevolent,

and the quicksand shrank, a jilted lover.

Long after, our family is invited to water ski 

on the Rio Grande, a giant state’s worth 

away from the Canadian. It’s Sunday, 

and a family calls from the Mexican side,

imploring our skipper to come for them:

Por favor! Tengo dinero! Tengo plata!

We hold tight to the rope, feel this seam 

of two nations spray us, threatening, 

taunting at our foolish freedom, a secret 

of the coming decades mocking us: 

this river now dressed in the belt of The Wall,

shod in Boots-on-the-Ground. 

Jan Seale lives in deep South Texas.  She has authored nine poetry volumes as well as books in fiction, nonfiction, and children's literature.  She is the 2012 Texas Poet Laureate.