The Power of Water

for PB

To know someone, look at their hands-

lines and memories, skills

wrapped within muscle and skin,

connected by neurons and tendons.

 

My friend’s hands have known:

how to be a mom, a soldier’s wife;

a friend, caretaker, surgeon;

chef of many recipes and award-winning

houses sculpted from gingerbread.

Emotional resilience, found

in the constancy of activity.  

 

They guided her body, and her kayak

over routes and roads, storied mazes

of a lifetime-

the yarns of ancestors, the terror

of a daughter’s rape; the helplessness

of a son’s attempted suicide.

The eternal love and more than eternal

criticism received of a spouse.

 

We remember the way we were

when all we had for Friday night

was a dollar for a McDonalds burger?

and some laughter and tears.

 

You knew how to climb the cliff

and submerge yourself in the flume’s

waters, in the sun, on the most

beautiful days that the Creator ever saw fit

to grace upon us. That little boat-

 

always bringing you to new shores,

barely beating the storm home

sometimes, but you always made it.

 

Now, I wonder if you simply waited

too long this time for your family’s

permission. When I close my eyes,

I cannot see the flesh covering the

bones of your hands.

It has been stripped by the water’s power;

you could not follow that particular

waterfall over edges of the world,

and the words to so many songs

do not come at all any more.

 

What terror could be worse than

fearing the gaze of a stranger

upon viewing your own face

reflected in shimmering waters?

 

I guess we would all wish

to hold onto all things

long after their reality has slipped

quietly downstream. I guess

someone has to give permission now.

 

Turn your kayak away from the night,

my friend. You are not lost after all.

Take the paddle in hands

that at least remember how to travel.

Your memories await you, somewhere

on the Eastern shore, with the sunrise,

beyond the end of the world, in the still

waters after the waterfall.

Author's Note

another work translated from my original in Spanish. This one was written for a friend tragically dying young of complications from Alzheimer's. She was an avid cook, kayaker, outdoorsperson; devoted mother and wife and excellent coworker. We were best friends for many years- including a stint where Ilived with her when I needed a place to go- until I lost touch with her after her move to the West Coast.

She passed on two days after I wrote this piece.

The original in Spanish can be found here:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1829122/

Photo is my own; a mountaintop turquoise lagoon at 10,500' in a hidden community near where I worked as a vet

Reviews

[Ken Simm.]

A worthy paen of praise for an incredible human being. To feel the achievement. To feel the life. To feel the loss to the world. Or perhaps the gain in memories. How one outstrips the other. Incredible, moving, heartachingly beautiful. As she was.