I Follow The River

Looking downstream on the Colorado River in Grand Canyon, which is the ancestral homelands of 11 associated trips: A:shiwi (Zuni), Diné (Navajo), Havasu’baaja (Havasupai), Hopi, Hwal’bay (Hualapai), Las Vegas Paiute Tribe, Moapa Band of Paiute Indians, Nungwu (Kaibab Band of Paiute Indians), Paiute Indian Tribe of Utah, San Juan Southern Paiute Tribe, and Yavap’e - Nṉéé (Yavapai-Apache Nation).

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I follow the river
through steep mountain slices
warped like sparks in my soul

but this time the river runs seemingly uphill
and the gorges roll on unperturbed
instead of obscuring their interior.

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I follow the river
unsuspectingly
until I find it,

my spunky sense of youth
where days of play stretch on and on
and water is swirly truth.

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I follow the river
as summer slips by
in the most delightful way:

slip-n-slides and eight-hour drives
and bleach-blonde youths questioning, sincerely, what rapids are for.

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I follow the river
because I now know
and all at once, don’t

understand how the magic of the moon
can warm me like the
serendipity of the sun.

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