Crossing the River by Dr. Anthony Tan

Came upon a river shrouded in mist.
Too early for bird call, or wing beat,
Too early even for wind.
A giant conch shell on a beaded string
Hung on the branch of a leafless tree.
it belonged to the boatman of the river.
With little energy I blew it long and thin,
Remembering what I had been taught,
Cupping it between my delicate hands.
On the edge of that feeble call
An apparition darkened the thick mist.
Slowly the bow emerged in the hush of dawn.
Beckoned me to his boat. Didn't tell him
Where to and he didn't ask, as if
My destination were already foreknown
He didn't paddle. He hesitated.
He waited as if he had forgotten something.
Looked me straight in the eye.
When I didnt't respond immediately,
he opened a bony hand,
The bwhite palm trembling with greed.
The other hand gripped the head of a long pole.
then I remembered what I had been taught:
I dropped a silver coin into his open palm.
He gripped it, dropped it into a bulging purse
That was tightly sewn to his leather belt.
the drop of silver on silver
Was the only sound in the soundless mist.
Only then did a fugitive grin light up his face.
Only then did he strike
The murky water in the pole.
There was no one to say goodbye to.
No friends. No kinsmen. No lovers.
the gurgle int he wake took the place of words.
The boat moved toward the other bank, where
He had unloaded his boat of so many strangers.