09-20-81

 

Water Bed

 

I say the river is wide here.  But I don’t mean it.

It is hard to speak of wide rivers with so many world rivers with which to speak of.

The water glitters with golden sun, a brown water gushing against the bank, rocking reeds and weeds as if a frightful ghosts pass through them.

The river locks whole islands of golden reeds in its embrace as summer winds down and a wind wanders the back canals, carrying seed to hide before winter comes.

I get glimpses of countless crawling creatures and feel the need to crawl, too, as if I am a rat or raccoon searching for a hole to hibernate in.

I am attracted to the coil of snakes, their smooth bodies curling near my feet like roots – but I fear their bite and think of them as the world and how vicious life has become.

I feel so small, less than real, like an Alice in a less than wonderland floating like a cork along river eddies I can’t control.

The gulls mock my gullibility, telling me in their echoed laughter not to expect justice in nature, just brute force, living and dying, hiding in holes, all part of a cycle of life in which I suffer only one small part, after which I am gone.

The storm just ended, leaving streams of water here and there like tears across a scarred face, each flow stealing a little of the land, leaving less room and fewer holes for us to hide.

The gull cries echo in my head, rustling the reeds of memory, stirring up creatures I only vaguely knew lived there.

Years do not make a river bend, water does, time simply providing it opportunity.

And though I admire the flow of water, the glistening sun, even the snakes, I fear them all, each changing me inside the way they change the landscape without.

I don’t even know who I am any more, or what I should be, feeling weary here amid the reeds of this vast water bed knowing that each drip of water wears me away, too.

I see the geese rise from the surface for their flight south, envying them, as I wish I had wings to follow, when the best I can do is crawl in search of a hole, wrapping myself up in this blanket of reeds until winter passes and the seeds once again bloom in spring.