worth watching

“This [genocide] is how we came to own these United States. This is the legacy of manifest destiny. Prisoners are still born into prisoner of war camps, long after the guards are gone.” 
-Aaron Huey

That house, the one by the river, wooden
with windchimes and driftwood and rain on the windows

The river, called Siuslaw, was a wide mouth,
giant logs cast down, rapid and uncrossable.
In the enclosed porch, I sat quietly, fingered fishermen's twine, listened.

The weather today reminds of Bré, Ireland,
and the cliff path we walked all afternoon to neighboring Greystones.
I am back in Monteverde, Costa Rica, the Cloud Forest and its "cat whisker" rain.

I called for the orange kitten again today as I followed Cedar.
It did not come.
Perhaps it is curled up near a window inside.

Shiloh Hill smelled all of pine, damp and deep.
My bare arms were chilled, but I was adamant.
The mountains now deep green (only Dominion and the top of Paradis have kept their snow),
my footsteps sturdy and ears searching for the wind.

have been finding old pictures,
looking for them in the wake of my grandfather
my parents, like most pictures of our far-west parents,
look happy, beautiful.
pioneering through the 70s on a steady diet of simplicity and scenescapes.
pioneering through, for my mom at least, the overwhelming pain the 80s would bring

i can't stop looking at her face in these pictures--
her young face. (my age!)
her old soul, grey-blue eyes,
knowing more than her size and youth let on

her mouth, not smiling, but looking, smirking,
showing strength and tenderness and resolve
like she had an inkling not all ahead would be sunlight & bikini tops & ski trips with her new husband

now i think of these things sipping coffee
now i try to piece together who i am
and what this means.