Inarticulate

I have no memory of it.

I believe a river caught up with us

when we curved the foot of the mountain.

Men and women got off the bus to drink.

My father cupped his hands

and I gulped mouthfuls.

Snow patches led the way to the cool

black smoke of the woods. Over our heads

eagles played tag with the white sun.

The way we changed the valley

entering it like winter shadows.

I never dream of it

but I remember being watched

as I stood at the edge of water

stirring images with my foot.

“Inarticulate” first appeared in Salamander, Vol. 16, No. 1.