From the point of this chalky rock, I see a series of baptisms through the trees. One woman's hair is long down her back.and when she ducks under it folds into a snake. I look across the river at the grey litter box ground and the trees and it look like a painting from the wild west. I hear the clapping over the sound of the river running. My tan belly sticking out of my little underwear as my eyes poke through this place. Feeling myself and the crowd behind me so far from that kind of act of stinging awake. I feel sloshed in the river drowning out.
I think to myself: Your white claws are better than my two-cents.
I road back down the river with my white T-Shirt in my hand. Hot flashes-back now at 9 p.m the Sunday there after where everything is wonderful but also so void of that girth that makes a memory awake and bend outward in your mind. I see my ex and his friend sitting up on the edge of the bowl of a skatepark. They both laugh and when they do it looks like they see the whole world in sharp greens.
A few things stand out in this world O' green. When I got into the car and Nate so happily told me about how it was like that time my Dad drove us up from LA in a bright blue bronco and I slept in his lap the whole time. A good sleep. That world, that memory, was white as a dove. And in this green world it kind of sat up in-time for a moment to listen and then withered into the song What's Up by 4 Non Blondes. "My life is still, trying to get up that great big hill of hope, for a destination." Like a cloud dying.
My destination is way downstream. Through the cursive trees arced and the fire flash of Fourth of July fireworks. Hindsight should be a handout. And somewhere along a straight 101 freeway that gets tangled up in green water somewhere near Willits, I have found a way-out.
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