.
she promises if I sit beside her a while
and tell her my story
I will never die
just as she tells stories
of the Arapaho whose name for her is lost
the settlers who named her Boulder Creek
she beckons me closer
tell my story
and she will share
the stories of those that passed before
shallow pans dancing
shock of first blood
baptism of children who screech with red-tailed hawks
lovers sharing the vows of marriage
and the spark of conception
tears flowing
down her banks
until waters merge
so that cutthroat trout taste the oceans
she speaks of a young man
who took his name from the mountains
bathed in sunshine
he sang songs of love
friendship
soaring hope
and promised to sing of her stories
she speaks of another who visited her
every summer with poems
about mountains made of steel and granite
minds blossoming and wasted
prayers for friends who died too soon
she promises to tell my story a thousand years from now
in the language of the wind
answering to the name she is called that day
-isw
Filed under: Long Island Politics, Recommended Poetry Tagged: | Uncategorized
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