SONG SEVEN:
SNAKES AND DRAGONS
“That’s easy. I miss that town we just left
and I wonder if I’ll see it again
I didn’t hate it like you did, you know.
But it was ‘when’ not ‘if’ that I would go.
Your turn, and in the telling make it so”
Hart settles into silence – looks at me
“You’re right. I couldn’t wait to leave that town
I don’t miss anyone, but it’s the place
I’ve always lived, so it’s like falling out
of the nest. It’s a good thing, but I’m scared.”
“Of what exactly? Right now, for instance?”
I keep rowing to focus on something
that is mechanical without feelings
“Well, for instance, at the end of today
we have to get a message to our folks.”
“It’s already taken care of,” Hart says
while barely suppressing an impish smile
“What!? That can’t be!” And now I stop rowing.
“I did it myself, and through mine yours know.”
“When?”
“Before we left.”
“If they told my parents, we wouldn’t be
rowing down this river in this red boat."
“Well, we’re in the boat but you aren’t rowing.”
I pull up and slam both oars in their locks.
“Careful, you’ll break our boat,” says Hart giggling
“This boat is out of service until you
tell me what you have done or didn’t do!”
“Let me start at this good boat’s beginning.
I told my parents immediately
about our intentions. It seemed right to tell.
How do you think I got all this food, blankets
and even some coin which I haven’t mentioned?”
Ignoring the money and provisions,
I went to the heart of my own concern
“You trusted them? Are you some kind of fool!?”
“They’ve never given me reason not to.
Not like your folks, I guess. That is too bad.
I told them you wanted to be secret.
They agreed to break the news to your folks
tonight, when they expect us back in town.
All my parents asked was that I let them
know how we’re doing every week or two.”
I drop my forehead to my upright palms
I can’t believe how easy Hart makes this
I had snuck and stole and not said a word
I know my parents and they would never
agree to such an open-ended jaunt
Still, I felt guilty about my deceit
but telling Hart this? No. That won’t happen
“I’m not telling my parents like some kid.”
“Don’t have to. They’ll get the news anyway.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I feel betrayed.”
“You would not have agreed. Now we are gone.”
“I’ll get over it. At least that’s one fear
counted down and dozens more to deal with.”
“Probably more,” Hart says. “Now let me row.”
Two days later and many miles downstream
Hart and I have settled into silence
except when some words emerge worth saying
In this way we hear water-carried sounds
birdsong, creatures rustling on shore, humming
from river towns – voices, carts, machinery
And always water sounds – droplets from oars
wavelets against sandbars, dives from the boat
to cool off, then hanging from the stern while
the relentless current glides us due South
Time is marked by sun and meals and sleeping
the last taking up a larger portion
than perhaps it should but the rocking boat
and the high-arched sun both tax energy
and staying awake much without purpose
On the hot afternoon of the fifth day
I sit chin in hand watching the boat’s prow
divide the silt-brown water into two
diverging ripples expanding outward
Suddenly, a slender shadow-wrinkle
appears before the bow, off to the left
I shade my eyes against the glare, follow
the rift to its source and there protruding
an inch or two above the waterline
a glistening flat-scaled water snake’s gray head
eyes – two fire-yellow coals of steely light
around her neck a broken, pale gold ring
underbelly flashes glimpses of orange
“Stop rowing,” I whisper and point so Hart
can see the reason for my abrupt charge
I hear him gently pull up oars and lock
We glide in the central channel, silent
now paralleling the slender bodied
river snake who heads due South just like us
“Looks like she’s going somewhere,” I whisper.
“Most everybody is by accident
or intention,” Hart whispers back sagely
“May be a ‘he?’” It’s hard to tell with snakes.”
The serpent’s length looks about ten inches
with girth hardly as round as a fat thumb
Within the snake’s tiny head, I can’t see
much room for intention, yet her wriggling
clear direction is not accidental
Her motive comes from my imagination
the force is obvious – of course, instinct –
a source of knowing without thought. That’s good!
So very much simpler than relying
on our brains with their uncertain groping
But now a flush of impulse bubbles up
“Let’s follow her!” I whisper sharp to Hart
“That’s likely,” he replies, “since we are all
drifting South with the current anyway.”
I wave him off with a disgusted look
and turn back to the spunky snake forging
the river trailing the tiniest wake
A bit farther on she veers to the right
but seems wary of our bow following
a few feet behind. “Back row a bit,”
I whisper to Hart. “Watch her reaction.”
“All right, captain,” he says under his breath
When the snake likes the margin, she tacks off
to left, crosses our bow, and makes for shore
We follow some yards behind and as we
near shore she vanishes around a corner
Hart pulls toward the snake’s left turn, and whispers,
“Shadowing a snake is bad, I must say.”
“I guess, if we were traveling in Eden.
and if this snake was up an apple tree.”
I focus on the snake’s vanishing point
As we glide near, a backwater channel
opens up that lays completely hidden
and there’s the snake waggling her way along
like she knows the place and where she’s going
In fact, she is far more certain than we
who have no better compass than this lean
reptile-needle’s unspecified objective
We stay well back so as not to frighten
our unusual guide but each time we round
another channel turn, the snake appears
making passage like a ship coming home
At the third turn, an old broken-down pier
comes into view and behind it a hut
with fishing nets and traps hung between trees
“I think we should turn around,” cautions Hart
“Nobody’s here. Let’s go see,” I counter
Hart does not answer but keeps on rowing
The snake has disappeared under the dock
We crease the first piling and I hold us
there while I peer under the dock and try
to locate the snake. “Phew! What smells rotten?”
Hart asks holding his nose and grimacing
“There’s a bunch of fish parts floating around
under here,” I say peering under the dock
“Maybe the snake eats them. That’s why she’s here.”
Hart lets out a short gasp. I say, "Don’t be
so fragile,” but when I get up to face
him I see he’s staring at the old hut
and he looks like he has seen a demon –
I turn slowly in the direction he
stares, stunned, because watching near the hut skulks
a creature standing upright who may be
human although it could just as well have
sprung uncut from the earth – all hair and dirt –
or fallen from a tree – full-furred with teeth
The creature moves towards us. Hart gasps again
and my own heart is pounding, but I want
to know who or what we’re about to meet
I’m thinking we are safe in the boat but
I will have to pry the oars out of Hart’s
whitened grip, if the best course is retreat
The apparition strides slowly toward us
It raises a hand and calls out loudly,
“Ho there! What’s your business?” It’s a woman!
Hart still can’t or won’t speak and what is true
sounds wrong. I can’t say, a snake lead us here
“What’s your business!” She is more insistent
“We’re exploring,” peeps Hart, face all whitened
“Yeah, we’re just looking around,” I add but
I’m not convinced, so how can she believe?
She’s at the land-end of the too-short dock
Her face mud-streaked, her gray-brown hair matted
Hefty breasts hanging halfway to her waist
inside her rough-hewn, brown shirt streaked with dirt,
and trousers hung from a thick leather belt.
“Explorers, eh?” she cackles rocking back
on her booted heels, hands on wide, thick hips
“Two strong young people should be working hard
not lazing about in a boat like that.”
“Like what!?” I challenge in the boat’s defense
“Looks like a Sunday boat for parasols
and ruffles – for a coxcomb and his girl.”
“She’s a fine ship!” I frown at her. Hart squeaks.
“Ship!? Har-de-har-har,” she throws her head back
“Why that tub’ll sink under your first storm.”
“Want an apple?” chirps Hart moving past me
with a large red apple held out to her
“Not me. What else do you have in that box?”
She shuffles alongside our boat and squats
on her thick haunches to inspect the chest
But Hart scampers back to the storage bin
and sits on it saying, “Just food and clothes.”
The way he says it makes it sound like there’s
gold and jewels and money stashed in the box
“And a sail,” I add in a haughty tone
as much from pride as my wish to divert
“You don’t say,” she answers absently still
craning her neck to assess our small stores
“So why are there snakes underneath your dock?”
I probe in a bid to change her focus
“I guess they like the dead things under there,”
she pushes her face close to mine. Her smell
wafts like the lifeless remains she conjures
“I just saw some fish parts,” I say, then see
she’s taken this for a question about
what more frightening corpses lie underneath?
“Well, I haven’t drowned any brats lately.”
She leers at me then squints at Hart and cocks
her head like she’s sizing him for a kill.
Hart’s small gulp tells her she has hit her mark
“Where do all the fish parts come from?” I play
the wounded bird to distract this fat fox
“I put them there,” she says with sneering grin
“Why?” I bait, noticing a welling up
in me of unreasonable confidence
like the flush I feel when what’s said is true.
I should be afraid like Hart, but in spite
of present circumstances, I am not
“To trap nosey people who look under
my dock!” She bares her teeth and wriggles her
fingers at me as if planting a hex
“Catch many?” It’s Hart, somewhat recovered
and slightly more in possession of voice
This puts her into a long laughing fit
that jiggles her huge breasts pushing out her
two walnut nipples hanging in her shirt
“Let’s cut the crap,” she stammers between laughs
“I don’t get much company. It was hard
to resist teasing you a little bit.
She wipes her nose with her index finger
“How did you find my place way up this creek?”
Now it seems safe to tell the truth. Even
Hart is relaxing and finding his ground
“We followed a snake,” I say seriously
She evaluates my response as true
“That can get you into trouble they say.”
“That’s what I said,” Hart pipes up boldly now
“Well, not this time,” she comforts, “unless you
call a hot meal ‘trouble’ where you’re both from.
I was just out picking greens for the soup
We’ll pick some more and you two can join me.”
“We just ate before we got here,” Hart lies
and I frown at his blatant squeamishness
“I’m hungry,” I say breaking ranks with Hart
“Your friend can wash the dishes. Come ashore!”
She stands and turns, beckoning with a wave
Hart rolls his eyes at me. I return him
my best cocky smile as we leave our boat
She turns and sees Hart’s limp. Her eyebrows rise
but she looks away and says not a thing
Hart breathes, “She hasn’t drowned anybody
but she did not deny eating someone.”
She stops dead in her tracks and even though
she is out of earshot, she turns and says
“I only eat the ones who are afraid.”
I want to quip, “Is that why you’re so fat?”
but I think better of it and keep quiet
We follow past the brownish broken shack
where dozens of fish are cooking slowly
tied to long racks, suspended in light smoke
Beyond this, a narrow trail breaks the woods
Hart and I halt side by side as she turns
and heads down the path overhung with vines
“Come on,” she says roughly. “We’re getting greens.
I promise not to throw you in the pot.”
“I’ll stay here,” Hart volunteers. “Just in case.”
“Suit yourself,” I reply and take the path
I catch up to the woman and explain,
“My friend’s a little edgy. He doesn’t
travel much or meet new people often.”
“He wouldn’t be the first one I made edgy.
What town did you say you both come from then?”
“A place upriver I’d rather forget.”
“Bad things happen?” she asks over her shoulder
“Yes, some, but mostly nothing happened much.”
“So, you two are off to see the world then?”
“Well, it would be stretching to say ‘the world’
at least in the boat – ‘er ship – we have now”
“You’ll be surprised how far that boat will go.”
“You changed your mind about it then?” I probe
She stops and turns to face me. “Call it my
little test to see what you have in here.”
She thumps my chest quite hard over my heart
then continues to trudge into the woods
“What did you find out?” I ask jauntily
Without stopping, she answers, “Your friend there
stands as true as they come, but you, well now,
you are a different kettle of catfish.”
“Catfish? Is that the kind you were smoking?”
I change to a subject I like better
and she favors me by taking my tack
“Good guess. They’re the real source of the ‘dead things’,”
She wriggles her fingers above her head
like a ghoul clawing up from underground
“Ah! Here we are.” She heads off into wild
brushy woods and I scramble to keep up
Off the path the light dims quickly. I start
to think I’ve been foolish while Hart is smart
On the trail I could outrun her but here
I could trip, fall, and if she sat on me
I’d be trapped while she pulled her knife and slashed
me stone dead – out of nowhere I dream up
Jani’s three-inch knife – this makes me panic
She whirls to face me. “Dig here,” she orders
pointing to a leafy patch of moist ground
My eyes grow wide as I picture digging
my own grave for her to stow my body
She sees my fear and grabs my shoulder hard
“Pods and tubers – that’s all we’re after here,”
She shakes her head, sighs, lets me go, kneels down
digging crudely around the tender plants
I squat down to watch and learn – some relieved
She takes the biggest plants out of the ground
she proves more limber than I would have guessed
where I must concentrate to do the work
“How can you be sure these aren’t poisonous?”
“When you’ve lived in the woods alone like I
have, believe me, you learn poison from good.”
“That’s something I would like to learn,” I say
“Well, this is a patch of wild leeks. The small
ones’ leaves are good for soup. You can pick those,”
she says showing me how with quick, deft moves
“These older bulbs will add chunks to the soup.
As for poison, not much danger here but
watch out for the look-alike Death Camass
that look like leeks or onions but do not
have their onion smell. They will kill you sure.”
“That seems easy,” I say picking the greens
“Don’t be fooled by your first lesson,” she warns
“Take storksbill for instance – looks like parsley –
also looks like poison hemlock – only
pick storksbill in early spring when you’re sure.”
“Oh, I see.” I say, my brashness mellowed
We finish our gathering and start back
“Some plants and flowers make good medicine,”
she tells me as we walk. “Yarrow is good
for lots of things – stops bleeding, heals bruises,
burns, even arrow wounds.” She glances at
me to check my reaction to the last
“Sounds good. Show me some.” I don’t take the bait
“There’s some soldier’s woundwort behind the shack.”
“I thought we were talking about yarrow.”
“Same thing. Different name. It’s called stanch weed, too.”
“This is complicated. A lot to learn.”
“All depends on how bad you need to know.”
Shortly, we see Hart sitting in the boat.
“Hart!” I call. “Look what we’ve got.” No response
“Give me those,” she says taking the green leaves
from my bowled-out shirt. “Go see what is wrong.
I’ll finish off the soup so we can eat.”
I walk down to the water, sit cross-legged
on the pier and wait for Hart to speak first
Hart looks at me. I see tears welling up
Hart looks away, “I hate it here. Let’s go.”
“You don’t have to eat,” I coax quietly
I’m torn between needing to take care of
Hart and wanting to know more of the things
this strange woman knows of plants, bulbs, and weeds
ones that heal or kill, others that can feed
“This place is just plain bad. Can’t you see that?”
Hart tries even harder to plead the case
“Just one night, Hart. We can go at sunrise.”
“You go on. I’ll stay in the boat. The fish
smell here is perfume compared to her stink.”
“She’s not that bad. She knows all kinds of things
about which plants make good eating and which
can heal, and others that are bad poison.”
“It’s the poison part that I’m afraid of.”
“I’m going in. I wish you’d come with me.”
Hart hunkers down, plants both feet, crosses arms
“I’ll be here as long as I can stand it.”
I see it’s no use. I turn, walk away
but stubbornness has tainted this
The shack door is open so I walk in
Soup bubbles and steams in a cast iron pot
sitting atop a huge, blackened woodstove
I do not see the woman though the shack,
a single room, has no way out the back
Dangling from the ceiling beams, dried flowers
and plants tied in bunches swing gently caught
in the breeze like a hundred hanging men
I reach and pluck a small dusty yellow
blossom from a low-hanging bunch of flowers
I sniff it. It smells like dry hay. I bring
it to my tongue, moisten it to heighten
the sweet aroma of late summer fields
“How can you be sure it isn’t poison?”
asks the woman suddenly behind me
I flinch in surprise but manage not to
gasp or yelp like Hart. I breathe in and say
“It smells like it would do me good. A flower
couldn’t hurt or kill you, could it?” I ask
“Your nose is smart, but you’re weak for beauty
that traps and kills you if you don’t watch out.
In this case you’re safe. The flower’s chamomile,
a sort of daisy, good for stomach aches.”
I pop the blossom in my mouth and chew
“So, maybe I just lied and poisoned you,”
she whispers loudly and squints up her eyes
Although I flinch, I only say, “We’ll see
now won’t we? Besides I think I trust you.”
This I say to secure an antidote
if needed. “So, what are all these?” I point
to the bunches hanging from the ceiling
“It’s better to learn about them when they’re
in the ground, and now there’s the soup to cook
I was just out picking two final herbs –
thyme and savory, not deadly nightshade.”
She holds the sprigs up for my inspection
then stands before the soup and breaks them in
“What else is in this soup?” I bend to sniff
“I bet you would rather make some guesses.”
“All right.” I peer inside the grease-grimed pot
“Fish for sure. No doubt right from this river.
I see potatoes. Where did they come from?”
“My cellar’s last ones from my autumn crop
I spoon up a ladle. “There’s tomatoes.”
“Picked and dried right off my vines last year, too.”
“Do I see cut green beans bobbing in here?”
“A fresh early type grown right over there.”
She points beyond where the fish are smoking
“Do I see parsley or is it nightshade?”
“The friendly kind,” she answers tasting broth
“And look at this.” She pulls a heavy pan
off a shelf higher up the woodstove stack
“Cornbread made from corn meal I ground myself.”
“You must spend all your time preparing food.”
“Mostly I like being independent.
If I can feed and heal myself I don’t
need much, if anything, from anyone
like you need your friend out there in that boat.”
“I don’t need anyone or anything,”
I say before I think of how I do
or what great fears make me say I do not
“You said you want to learn from me but Hart
won’t let you stay. I can plainly see that.”
“No one runs my life or checks up on me.”
“So, you say, but I see something different.”
“Hart needs me because of that crippled leg.”
I can’t believe these words come from my mouth
and I’m ashamed even as I speak them
“Oh, I see,” is all she says to my lies
“I’d better go and check on things out there.”
I gaze out to where Hart sits in our boat
looking so alone and so miserable
I want to run out there and make amends
“Let’s eat,” the woman says lifting chipped bowls
off wooden shelves and blowing dust away
We sit at an sturdy table slurping
soup and dunking cornbread. Both are so good
it isn’t hard to see how she stays fat
When I finish my third helping, I stare
out the door toward Hart sitting in the same
forlorn position of an hour ago
I’m on the edge of making excuses
and leaving now my belly’s fat and full
She bangs a clear bottle on the table
“Here’s something special for dessert,” she purrs
arching one eyebrow as she sits back down
“What is it?” I ask when I really mean
to say thanks, and good-bye to run to Hart
“This is the one thing I don’t make myself.
I traded tons of fish for this bottle
Not every drifter gets a taste of this.”
She uncorks the long-necked bottle, pours two
two large drinks, raises her mug toward our boat
and says, “Here’s to all those who break our hearts.”
I hesitate, but salute toward the sun
sinking into forest behind the shack
and in that hushed instant before I drink
I think of Jani, breaker of my heart
I think of Hart, in the midst of breaking
The first swallow goes down burning and shoots
smoky geysers exploding in my head
My eyes twitch wildly as warm blood rushes
radiates to every finger and toe
“Drink up now,” she says downing her whole mug
I need no encouragement. This potent
liquid brings its own seduction. I down
my mug as she lifts the bottle to pour
the stream of deep gold liquid once again
I sink into a contentment so grand
I laugh out loud to feel how it holds me
steady, sure, all blame and imperfection
poor misunderstandings – all self-loathing
dreamy mist gone under sunbeams’ glitter
The third glass I let tingle in my mouth
until it burns, then gulp down pure gilt fire
“Come on,” the woman says taking my hand
Her other hand grabs the treasured bottle
and she leads me staggering toward the woods
We plod down the narrow path to its end
She leads me farther away than before
Her eyes glint red-yellow in the sunset
We keep on drinking straight from the bottle
reflecting light sparks in fluid patterns
like stars sputtering out on a shrunken sea
“There’s a place I want to show you,” she croons
I follow because she holds the bottle
Pressing on, we reach a forest circle
In the center, two huge pine trunks have grown
from one set of roots, and all around them
copper needles fallen over jade moss
Faint daylight puts all in shadowy whirlpools
My head spins and my body feels so light
I flop down cross-legged and close my eyes
watching the blurring thoughts and fading self
All that matters is where I’m sitting now
where the restless doubts are finally stilled
It doesn’t matter why or how I’m here
only that I’m free of doubt and of fear
I don’t want to open my eyes or move
I want to drift and dream inside myself
When my heavy lids do flutter open, the woman stands
naked—clothes thrown aside – both shoes untied
“Take off your clothes,” she whispers, “and lie down
here with me on this bed under the trees.”
“Give me another drink,” I slur coyly
“Your clothes first, then drink,” she teases holding
the blessed bottle high over her head
“You win,” I submit and sway to standing
pull off my thin shirt, and fall down backwards
stagger up, kick off shoes and strip naked
“What a beauty,” she admires looking up
and down my length. “I think I’ve won the prize.”
“Now the bottle,” I smile and cajole her
“I’ll help you drink,” she purrs moving closer
As she lifts the bottle to my wide mouth,
she presses her breasts and thighs against me
I swallow fiercely in case she keeps it
I sway then crumple face down on the ground
She rolls me over and straddles my hips
I don’t care what she is doing to me
Within, I tumble over some high edge
fall toward the center of my spinning head
Her hair falls around my face as her mouth
locks mine and her tongue probes my lips open
My hands and arms spread limp on the mosses
From far away I hear the woman moan
I don’t care what she is doing to me
I’m too immersed in what I see inside
spirals snaking down toward a bright abyss
She rubs her body wildly on my hips
I look up. Shuddering breasts is all I see
their nipples gorged and rigid near my mouth
I turn my head. “Another drink,” I smile
and peer around her chest to see her face
She grunts and grabs the bottle propped against
the giant double pine trees’ rough-skinned trunks
She lifts my head and holds it in one hand
and pours the gold fire down my open throat
“That was so good,” I sigh falling farther
She resumes her harsh, frantic rubbing strokes
on my yielding, limp body, then she throws
her head back and howls like some massive beast
while I fall down unending dim channels
of green-golden spirals swirling tumbling . . .
I lie on a grassy ledge peering down
into a clear blue pool lined with coral,
sand, and gray-green sea rocks. I am searching
desperately for the beloved I’ve lost
The water’s ripples distort my vision
I dive into the blue, sight blurring more
I can’t stop the search though my lungs may burst
When I think I can no longer hold breath,
I see a shadow shift drifting below
Frantically, I stroke toward it, grab its arm
rising with the bubbles to the surface
I drag the cold limp body to the ledge
begin long, warm breaths into the slack mouth
I exhaust my own breath as the body
sputters, gags and spits itself back to life
I roll over on my back next to it
and wait with my eyes closed to regain strength
As I open them, the lost one once more
has left – a trail leads to the water’s edge
A second time I submerge searching ‘til
drowning breaks my lungs while again I see
the floating form – again I pull the shape
ashore -- resuscitate ‘til I’m ashen
Once more, I close my eyes – dreaming the dream
Waking, a worn track heads for the water
Each time I rouse and launch the search, bringing
up the one who should be dead and I have
no strength to keep breath in the frail body
not enough to end the rescues or find
my watery quest ends each time denied
I wake exhausted in a foggy blue
lying naked on a cold wooden floor
The smell of vomit makes me wretch again
but the spasms are dry, unproductive
“Good morning,” comes a sing-song female voice
I bolt upright and demand, “Where is Hart!?”
“I haven’t checked. Do you want some breakfast?”
She asks like this happens every morning
“No! Where are my clothes!?” I am angry now
“There,” she points to a heap near the woodstove
I pull them on, groggy, stumbling, while she
just continues stirring and says nothing
I run frenziedly to the broken dock
The red boat is still there but Hart is not
Delirious with fear and nausea
I race back to the shack and choking shout,
“What have you done with Hart!? Tell me now, witch
I grab her arm and whirl her to face me
but she swings the other fist straight at me
and the punch lays me flat on the foul floor
“Such a short distance between love and hate”
She wags her finger at me and turns back
to the wood stove and her nonstop cooking
“Where is Hart!?” I demand getting back up
“How should I know my sweetest woodland love.”
“I’m not your love!” I gag once more at the
thought of what has happened to me, and worse
of what unearthly things she’s done to Hart
“You should be more careful how much you drink.
Don’t try to keep my pace. You’re not a match.”
I grab her greasy hair - yank her head back
“Ow!” She yelps. “Now you’ve gone and made me mad.”
Her booted foot kicks hard into my knee
I grasp the table to keep from falling
This is all futile – she’ll tell me nothing
I bolt out the door and run limping back
into the woods where I trip and fall but
keep on going wildly searching for Hart
Looking for a shallow grave, I scramble
toward the onion patch, but there is no sign
of a grave or ground disturbed anywhere
I sink to my knees on the fragile plants
and bury my face in my hands and sob
‘til I can barely breathe. I tear soil up
by the fistful scattering tender plants
I wail and scream alone and no one hears
“What have I done!? What have I done!?” I gasp
and it is worse not knowing what I’ve done
then if my tears fell on Hart’s ravaged corpse
I run back to the dock and to the boat
I drop down and see a scrap of paper
wedged in the storage lid. I grab and read
the scrawled words – “I stayed as long as I could”
Hart’s alive! Just gone. I have to follow!
I rip the line off the piling, grab oars
and row away from this snake-lead nightmare
and toward what I can only guess and fear
I stroke hard back down the curving channel
I don’t know if he’s gone this way but it
feels right to row fast away from that place
I reach the river far faster than when
we followed the snake to that broken pier
As I enter the breadth of the river
I know with a steady inner compass
which way Hart would turn – upriver and home
I pull hard against the current both to
skirt the main flow and to stay close to shore
I strain my eyes for Hart’s thin, limping form
and when I think my arms and lungs will break
Hart appears, heading north, just as I thought
crippled, facing home, swaying side to side,
determined and thoroughly one-pointed
When I pull alongside, no greeting comes
just keeps plodding ahead toward Chickopee
hung from the left shoulder, a blanket pack
“Hart! I am so sorry!” My voice breaking
but no sign of recognition at all
I beach the boat and go running after
Two limping cripples, but my wound lies far
inside and not in my leg, and I soon
catch up and wildly plead, “Please listen, Hart!
“Please listen! I was so wrong. Talk to me!
I’ll do whatever you want from now on.”
Stopping short, Hart whirls, and glares with loathing
“It’s too late! What’s done is done. I begged you
to leave, but no, you chose her and not me!”
“What can I do to change your mind?” I plead
“You? Nothing. You’ve already done too much.”
Hart continues steady walking northward
“You were right,” I sob. “I was so stupid.”
Suddenly, Hart turns and points at my head
“You were drunk and naked and so was she
I’m crippled but not blind! You make me sick!
It was quite clear you both enjoyed yourselves.”
“Hart, I was drunk. It all makes me so sick.”
“That usually happens when you drink too much.”
Spittle lands in the sand next to my feet,
Hart turns, says no more, and presses on North
I run and grab an arm. “Please Hart! Please. Please.”
Shaking me off, the final words bitter
“Go! Get away from me! Leave me alone!
The cutting words reverberate in my head
and I know this is irretrievably
finished – gone beyond any rescue – but
I call after that I will wait right here
for days – for a coming back – words grow weak
as I drop to the wet, cold-river sand
I watch ‘til there is nothing more to see
An empty boat. The river. Sea-bound me.
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