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Up River On the Columbia
he's stronger than stone and steel.
been around for thousands of years.
she winds between granite gorge walls,
mountain valleys, lush fields,
and desert air. coils, heaves,
then waits serene as if she's an innocent friend.
I've fished her shores. bent through her brush.
reveled in her wild flowers.
at times she's brutal, a tragic play.
I've seen her vitals in violent rage.
a ship captain knows she can't be cornered.
each year she spits bodies up from her cold currents.
for centuries the natives fed off of her.
settled her banks.
claimed she was crafted by the hands of a god.
told magical stories about her wealth.
then gathered with the gulls,
and rode her inconstant waves.
today birds circle.
I'm seated, a bit mournful.
a tour ship and a barge clang along.
the hillsides glare out their fellowship.
I peel an orange.
all around brown slopes cut the horizon.
this is desert country, bleak, naked, dry,
marked by burnt grasses.
the heat can beat you flat.
the sun's rays are like sniper fire.
good time for an iced drink.
nearby two Native Americans
fuss by an old truck.
one calls out "fresh caught salmon."
evening falls.
a train's iron wheels crack the quiet.
a hundred cars wing the shore, usurp the air
with headlights and horns.
it's the first of many goodnight runs
that gnarl through tonight's moonlight.
nearby a distant slope twinkles in its
own lovely world with the lights of homes.
I hear ducks wrangle,
chatter in their own language.
a curious splash catches me,
then goes under.
I'm no stranger.
I come here often. roll out a few dreams.
chat with myself.
I am far from the penalties of city life,
the overcrowded buildings,
foul sounds, street side cries,
horns, bells, hotels, and mad rushes.
I lie on fresh manicured grass.
feel the cool air.
my vigor rises.
my internal committee stops talking.
a crow and I stare.
he grabs his grub. flies off.
Mother Earth, her head, arms,
are stubborn, beautiful.
I'm a hunched body in her grasp.
I blend. sink into the waves.
the clear dark sky covers me.
in my riotous soul,
in the poker game of life,
I find peace.
I go deep like the fish.
swim within my muttering self.
I can go as deep as I want,
patient and fully quenched.
soon a field of stars will cover the sky.
this, the perfect place
to escape
the pickle jar of city life.
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