the driest year on record

 

 eagle lakes area. august 2012.

two weekends in the sierra foothills. photos from the first, a backpack, and a poem describing the last day of the second. 

the driest year on record

coming back from two days on the river, 

feet sand scrubbed and body filled with under water stillness

discovering my car, al fresco, the driver's window scattered across seats front and back, 

not stolen, nothing missing, just the solid lack of funds waiting to be shouldered,

my awareness expanding to encompass all the facets of my life making it unlikely 

that i will ever be equipped to attract create revel in the love i so desire, 

moaning out my despair to an undeservedly attentive audience, 

smothering in my own self pity,

i find room in my heart to envy even bonnie raitt, 

over whom i thrash out my inescapable misery, 

who at least can express her sorrow

with levity, eloquence, and a sultry voice.

recovery. relief at the retreat of the surging hormonal pulses flattening 

my dying midwest factory town of self confidence, 

able, finally, to laugh,

but still not trusting my friend's assurance that i look good in that photo.

and maybe perhaps all of this due, in part or en todo, or at least strongly kicked off by 

your perfect nose, small as a hospital gown snap, turned up in baby sleep

and you, you , sweet little bunny, petite example of perfect newness and all that i don't have,

named lovingly for a mother long gone and a video game.