Friday, January 23, 2009

My river

You can have your mighty Niagara and Mississippi;
I have mine, the River It is mine.
The swift current, the cold depths
The dock above, the waving weeds below.
Wide in space; dividing 2 nations.
Uniting lake and sea and sphere.

We wear fins and masks to delve the deep
And swim around the island.
Scary, monster rocks swell before out eyes;
weeds licking at our legs.
It must not touch me, any of it.
Ooo, my chest is tight, but I must see.
Water must encase me safely as I search
her depths.

My river. It is mine.
On a good day, the surface shatters the sun
into innumerable twinkling stars.
On a bad day the wind whips up white caps
and hides the floor of the water filled canyon
of my heart’s home.
There are no bad days.
My face is wet from rain or spray or tears.

We zoom about our water world by day…
waiting for glass, waiting to ski, skiing.
Fishing for sunfish in the slips for fun
with worms and bread;
or cast for pike and bass with lures.
Just to be on the river, near enough to see her…
in the quiet dawn or dusk.
My river. It is mine.

Just to be on the river, near enough to see her
at all times. Like the need for air.
My river. It is mine.
She is in my soul. She is in my heart.
Sold or not. She is mine. My river.
St. Lawrence. St. Lawrence.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Miss Berry sallies forth

7:30 January 17, 2009 Canandaigua, NY
Temperature: 21 degrees Wind: SSE 9 mmh

I let her out. Undaunted.

Not much new snow, lots of wind.
She saunters, sniffs casually.
Spies something.

Someone is out shoveling
in their pajamas and coat.
… what are they thinking?

She returns to sniffing and searching.
Her tail like a semaphore signaling planes,
her fur wind-blown, in no hurry.

I watch the shovel-er.
Does he like to shovel more than I?
Evidently. I am not out.

No, not shoveling.
He’s getting his paper
and scurrying back inside.

She begins to circle. One, two, three.
She’s looking worried. Six, seven, eight.
Still not right. Nine, ten—Ah.

Another paper retriever sortie
She’s done. I don’t need to call her.
She races for the door.

I let her in. So proud of herself.