Buoyant

Remember, when running to nowhere in particular you’d find yourself on the banks of the Columbia, thirsty? Remember when you were young and river rich? You’d make a cup with your palms and prove yourself a water bender. Of water and time; plenty. Enough rocks to skip and hold your feet to the shore make a game of your reflection. 

Remember when every spicket in the yard was a fountain? Where there is water there is healing. For ages we have gathered around the watering hole for the promise of life. Remember generosity? Anyone could belly up to the spring for baptism. There was never a thought of turning off or turning away an open mouth. All mouths speak in tongues. 

Remember where you were the day your brother died? A large body of run off water from the Cascades calling you back West. That blue water- too deep even for July’s sun  to heat. Remember the gills of low lying fish, gasping for breath, making a spectacle of themselves?  From the dock you dove in head first. Let those fish mouths surround and gape at your heels.  You had wanted to save them all by hand until you realized gasping is surviving. 

Remember what your mother told you about the tides? Watch out.  Reserve 10 percent for you and you alone. If you must leave your home in the middle of the night- wait for low tide. When things unseen are made visible. When your prints will be washed away come morning.  Be ready for the waves of sorrow.  Listen for the sounds your children make right before their hearts get broken.  High tides are {surely}on the way. Someday, not so far from now,  you’ll be so dumb and happy again you’ll leave the faucet running.

Remember that you too, are made of water.  Floating is your  birthright.   Let softness be your sloppy compass.  Close your eyes-  wait for the filling, water in every crevice. Suddenly your ears scoosh and pop! pop! pop! 

More than once, you sailed.