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Up River On the Columbia
she claims
all my inflections,
laughs and good tears.
I am soft fruit, a tender shadow
on her shore.
when I'm wrung out,
her air, stones console.
I've followed her for years.
been lost in her wistful rain.
but a ship captain knows
she can be rough, a blind beauty,
a beastly trap when a violent wind
spits up a body from her cold currents.
for centuries the natives caught leaping fish
and gathered with the gulls.
they rode her inconstant waves.
fished the falls. died in her arms.
but when she's at rest, she's a pleasure,
a delightful surprise, a morning dance.
today birds circle.
the heat beats down.
I peel an orange.
this is the desert country
where there are no crowds,
just a few voices,
parked cars and bare wind.
where a solemn lonely cry
is as bright as one's blood.
here the sun puts you in reverse.
you hear your own clear hoofs.
know nothing is forever.
two Native Americans
fuss by an old truck.
one calls out "fresh caught salmon."
evening falls.
a train swaggers along the shore.
its iron wheels and metallic eyes
meddle with the quiet,
bewitching the air with its attacking clanks.
the first of many goodnight runs.
on a slope homes flicker like little pearls,
like dainty little dwellings
with the quiet buzz of life.
I hear ducks wrangle,
chatter in their own language.
a curious splash catches me,
then goes under.
the cries, screeching streets,
bread lines, attitudes, dark beauty,
glut of busy shops,
murder, shabby hotels, and rattling derricks,
here I am far from the penalties of city life,
its confusion and fractured air.
the river's contours uphold my trespass
with an unaccountable sweetness.
I lie on the grass. a crow and I stare.
he grabs his grub and flies off.
I feel Mother Earth's nesting care,
the full length of her noble cry, her magic,
her long deep whispers.
I feel the acceptance of my ailings
and my famished songs.
the cliffs and brown dry grasses
speak like Saturday's' slow rhythm and blues,
a chance to relax, uncongested,
my neck on a soft pillow.
I am thirsty. I raise my arms.
drink in the wind and assert my very existence.
then like a fish I graze the waves.
I can go as deep as I want.
soon a sky full of exotic stars will appear.
this, the perfect place
to escape
the pickle jar of city life.
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