Saturday, April 12, 2014

Ecosystem

Bryson Creek

There are dragonflies
In my earliest memories
There are no clever thoughts
No grand ambitions
Only their loud hum
In the heat of summer
The taste of sweat
Upon my tongue
The feel of damp
On my neck
The river is near
Giving and taking
Sleeping then waking
Frothy then serene
The mountain is near
Giving not taking
Bending and breaking
Its peak still unseen
There is my mother
Provider of food and love
There is my father
Before me and not above
We are of here
This valley
This land
We are from here
Our family
Our band
All I know
Is nearby
Or at least as
The bird flies
The river knew my name
When I was baptized in it
The mountain knew my name
When I walked upon it
I became of here
In my crib
As the wind blew
Through it
I cannot forget
The hum
Of horseflies
Nor the pain
Of their bite
Nor the pull
Of the river's current
It's inhuman might
It all escalates outward
It all internalizes inward
The river takes me elsewhere
The mountain fades from view
When I am motionless
I can hear the dragonflies
Humming there still
When I am motionless
The river carries me there
Once again
The mountain's peak
Still out of view
Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

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