I am from the river.
From Clark Fork to Columbia... I am their constant companion.
I am from stiff black combs and Dippity Doo.
A quick spit shine from gramma Justine’s hand-laced hanky hid the Koolaid stains on my cheeks...
But never the ones on my collar... tightly buttoned clear to the top.

I am from the puddles.
Each one it’s own world. So much potential despite the gray days.
They formed by the house at the bottom of the hill.
A child of divorce... the first in our neighborhood
Ours was the grass uncut. Mine was the swing set broken.
I am from transistors and picture tubes.
Behind the grass as tall as me, the Bachelor Buttons in my backyard thrived along the barbed wire.
I did not know they were weeds.

I am from the lake.
Grampa’s wisdom floated down the length of my pole and into my soul.
I am from the junkyard four blocks away.
Old cars were time capsules.
Wheat pennies and jackknives were like diamonds in the rough among the ancient cigarette butts.
The rusty hulks were the same color as the train tracks that followed the river.
I wonder where they are taking me?

I am from the stream.
It bubbles and sighs as it cleanses the mountain... bringing offerings to the river.
I am from pizza mixes in a box and popcorn. I am from whatever was on sale.
Irish and Amish... my blood is Shamrock sweet and saur kraut sour.
I am from foodstamps.
My bowl overflowed with the boring kinds of cereal.
Poached elk, deer and bison... illegal gifts from the Blackfeet.
I am from my single mother. She always kept us fed.

I am from the creek.
It’s there and it’s gone, depending on it’s source.
I am from Naamah and Laiash, Eliza and Hiram.
Photos made of tin stare at me through smokey mirrors.
Dusty boxes in the attic are filled with distant rocky roads that somehow all lead to me.
How could their blood be mine?
“You’re going to be just like your father!”

I am from the snow.
The frost and the rime cool the fear inside.
The flakes and the feathers settle on my brow like old friends.
I am from the stone and the ice of the high Rockies.
I am kin to Ponderosas and Lodgepole pines.
The bear and the bison just around the bend, are magic.
All the while... the river comes and goes from and to places I have yet to see or be.

I am from the sea.
The ebb and the flow pulls the silver lasso tied to the the moon that ever follows Little Boy Blue.
From the smell of 7-Up and vodka... mixed with Bel-Air and Camels... to the step-family and the in-laws.
I am from that cycle of destructiveness... Broken!
I live in the heart of my high school flame... she who creates lives. Sisters sun and moon.
I am from the double-wide smack dab in the middle of five acres overlooking that river.
It comes and it goes...
I know where it’s been.
I have yet to see where it’s going...
But I think I have an idea.

I am from the river