SONG SIX:
WEIGHING ANCHOR
WEIGHING ANCHOR
Winter snowmelt hurries down a thousand
tiny streams to feed the widening water
Months have been swallowed up since Hart and I
sealed our pact to leave, but here it is Spring
again, and we remain in Chickopee
with only weeks before books are finished
and not one rescuer that I can see
to show us how to get away and free
“I feel like something’s bound to show up soon,”
I say to Hart who sits beside me high
up the slope above the rushing river
“We can’t stay here forever,” he predicts
but how to leave – where to go – I can’t see”
Hart purses his lips mischievously,
“For the first, I’ve heard walk, run, ride or fly
are the usual means depending whether
you are a turtle, horse, human, or bird
And for the second, I’d say, north, south, east or west
or finer compass points between those four.”
“You take this all so lightly,” I complain
“We’re stuck here and that’s no joking matter.”
Hart sits up straight and studies me closely.
“Your seriousness is doing us no good –
just taking all the fun right out of it.”
“If you want to know the truth, I’m growing
more afraid we will never leave this place”
“Fear will keep us here,” Hart says carefully.
“I know. I know. I’m not afraid to leave.”
“Of course not, since it hasn’t happened yet.
But staying is already here and this
is what you claim to be afraid of now”
I say nothing and so Hart speculates,
“With ‘how’ and ‘where’ so unknown and mental
some fear may be the right thing for a while”
I stand up suddenly, and arch my back
stretch my arms, “I wish someone would swoop down
and scoop me up and carry me away!”
“Then you should get a magic flying horse.”
“That would do,” I say slumping to a squat
“That would do,” I say slumping to a squat
“So, you think something magic has to happen?”
Hart is only half-teasing as he asks
“Well, sort of, but that will never happen”
I wag my head in deep resignation
“We could make some magic of our own kind”
I hear no joke. “What is your invention?”
“Well, first we must make a strong intention”
“Go on. I can’t imagine what you’ll say”
“Quiet. I’m thinking. It has to be right”
Anxiously, I stop talking – wait for him
but I cannot wait, and explode at Hart
“What on earth does that mean, Hart? Intention?”
“Oh, something like, ‘we swear to leave this place
or die in the attempt’” He’s not smiling
“Okay. Then what, oh great and mighty one?”
“Now you say it.” Hart’s face is unsmiling
“You just said it.” I think I call his bluff
“Not good enough. We both have to say it.”
“All right,” I sigh, close my eyes, head downward.
“We swear to leave or die in the attempt
We’ll do it soon!” I add for emphasis
“There. We’ve done it.” Hart thrusts his fist skyward.
“Done what?” Nothing has changed, and we’re still here”
“I can’t believe how dense you are sometimes.”
Hart smiles and shakes his head in mock despair
“We’ve said some words, and now the rescue comes?”
“No, you fool! There’ll be no magic rescue!
See, leaving means we will have saved ourselves.
The first step is to know you are leaving”
“When did you become so wise and knowing?”
“While you were so busy down and moping.”
I leap playfully and knock Hart backwards
straddling his hips and pinning his thin arms
“No fair picking on the poor crippled kid,”
he laughs and rolls me over on my back
We reverse our positions several times
as we roll down the bank into water
where we dunk and soak each other laughing
finally panting, we kneel in the shallows
The spring-cold river spits us up gasping
We trudge drenched to the bank and strip our clothes
to bare decency, and hang shirts and pants
socks and shoes to dry on budding bushes
“Brrrrr! That water’s cold,” I say shivering
“Good practice for our leaving here,” Hart quips
Two crows caw raucously in the branches
“See, they agree,” Hart says pointing. “Maybe . . .
they’ll even point the way for us to fly”
He looks at me impishly as he hangs
He looks at me impishly as he hangs
his shirt on a raspberry bush and I look
up to the two black birds’ glistening feathers.
I catch a silver glint from one crow’s eye
and I remember a bird much like this
that I knew well – long ago before I
knew true from false, or crow’s eye from starshine
in a place far from here that I called home
where I met a dragon, the first of nine
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More weeks pass and spring seeps into summer
The languid river long-since crested flows
with the shimmering heatwaves and we two
go there when we can to watch uprooted
trees float downstream, their bare branches wet-black
drifting sodden in the river’s current
like unearthed drastic corpses drowned and dark.
The day’s generous sunlight dances sparks
off the ripples and eddies – small fish rise
and break the surface with gray flapping tails
We are silent with the day’s hushing warmth
My head feels heavy in a pleasant way
My mind settles into even humming
unusually empty of scattered thoughts
I droop and doze as Hart already does
Then far upstream I see something bobbing
A tree trunk? I wonder, shading my eyes
squinting out toward it. A large box? A crate?
Now a glint of color floats up – dark red
This is no tree, I decide and jostle
Hart who groans and fends me off sleepily,
“Something’s floating down the river. Look! See!”
He raises up on his elbows, blinking
“It’s nothing. Just another drunken tree.”
He flops back down to resume his napping
I wait several minutes staring raptly
at the red approaching apparition.
When I am sure, I poke Hart’s arm again
“Now what’s up?” he testily rolls over
“It’s a boat!” I tell him standing straight up
Hart jumps up and we both scuttle sideways
down the riverbank to investigate
The red boat is much nearer now, dipping
its high-peaked prow gently in the current
as if nodding ‘yes’ to an unasked question.
The boat looks empty, and no one steers her
Hart and I know the current’s downstream path
and so determine an intercept course
where it will most likely swing the vessel
nearest to the riverbank and toward us
We scurry quickly along the shoreline
navigating tree roots, mud and large rocks
Our pace is too slow to make the junction
At once, I see only one chance for us
to capture this floating prize and beach her
With not a word to Hart I waddle in
catch the current and swim with it to get
ahead of the boat. Hart shouts from the shore
but I can’t make out his words as I turn
to face the current – swim hard against it
Now the wooden boat is bearing down fast
I am in its path and mean to catch it
I can see a rope trailing from the bow
The last few feet close faster than I gauge
The bow slides by. I miss the hanging rope
but kicking upward I grab the gunwale
and hold on as the current carries us
like driftwood caught and helpless in its flow
Hand over hand, I reach the bow and grab
the rope and wind it round my wrist and hand
Now, I relax and float with the current
downstream closer to the bank where I will
pull this trophy onto shore. I look back
upriver where Hart is falling behind
as the current and his crippled leg stretch
the space between us. Still, he is running
scrambling along the bank as best he can
Soon enough I see the river curve where
the current swings toward shore. I swim harder
toward the bank towing the boat behind me
The weight of her proves more than I expect
My arms tire and the shore seems far away
I begin to wonder if I’ll have to
let her go – this certain way to freedom
I will not do it. I will not let her go.
The bank isn’t far away I tell myself
Shallow water even nearer to me
Keep going, I urge my two trembling arms
Keep kicking, I command my tired legs
In this way, inch by inch, I draw the boat
to the riverbank, wind her rope around
a tree stump – drop down winded in the mud.
As I catch my breath, I look upriver
where Hart keeps on struggling, limping toward me
When he arrives, his agony is clear
“Are you all right?” he asks with not one glance
toward the boat rocking now tamed and docile
“Yes – now – but for a while – I wasn’t sure
that I was going to make it to dry land –
or mud,” I say scooping up brown handfuls
“Why didn’t you let the boat go, idiot?”
“I could not.” Can’t he see what this boat means?
“Why not? You could have drowned out there, you fool”
“I’m asking myself the same question now
“I’m asking myself the same question now
but out there I just couldn’t let her go.”
“Her!?” Hart screws his nose up quizzically
“That’s the way sailors talk about their ships.”
This is not a ‘ship,’ and we aren’t sailors.”
“I have imagined I might be some day.”
“This boat’s not ours. We’ll have to give it back.”
Hart says this with irritation but I
ignore his curiously strong reaction
“Law of the sea. We salvaged her. She’s ours.”
“The owner won’t think so, I’ll bet you that.
Anyway, boats’r more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Who says that?” I stand up with hands on hips
“My father,” Hart says almost sheepishly
“My father,” Hart says almost sheepishly
“He’s not a sailor, nor has he been one”
“Maybe that’s why. He is not that stupid”
“Hart, this is dumb. We’ve got ourselves a boat
and you want to get rid of her before
we have even sailed her a mile downstream.”
“It’s not a sailboat. It’s got oars, not sails.”
“But we could rig a sail. It isn’t hard.”
“Like some stupid kite!?” he counters crossly
“No, not like a kite. A sail. You know – wind
go poof-poof – boat move across the water.”
at me fiercely and kicks the red boat’s side
which lands him butt first in the slippery mud.
I want to get to the bottom quickly.
“Because I picture you getting in it
and going away – and away from me”
“Hart, we’re leaving together – remember?”
“Yea, I know, but there hasn’t been a way
and now there is – right here – floating ready”
“What do you mean? You can’t be serious”
Instantly, I see possibilities
“We want to leave, and now we really can.”
“In this!?” Hart asks more than a bit doubtful.
“In this!?” Hart asks more than a bit doubtful.
“Why not? Look at the size of that high bow.
It could take big ol’ waves and not get wet
If we rig a sail, there’s speed with the wind
And look, at the back – a box for storage.”
“I was talking about paddling around
the river not crossing some great ocean.”
“Not the ocean, but we can go hundreds
and hundreds of miles south on this river.”
“You’re serious? You really think we could?”
“Of course. Why not? People have done much more
and for poorer reasons than we have now”
“It’s not ours. That’s the very least,” Hart says
“Law of the sea. Our salvage. Off we go!”
For some long moments we stand looking down
Suddenly I see all we need to do
is choose and all will tumble into place
“Yes. Right. Let’s do it! What d’we have to lose?”
“Do what?” Now Hart is again off balance
“Get out of this place for good in our boat.”
“Okay, captain. What do we do for food?”
“Easy. There’s lots of stuff in our cellar
and we can fish and get jobs as we go.”
Hart silently considers what I’ve said
I know him well enough to see it’s just
a matter of details now. Then he says,
“We have some old blankets that won’t be missed,
but what are we going to tell our parents?”
“Easy. We tell them about the boat and
“Easy. We tell them about the boat and
we’re going to take a short upriver trip
to see if we can locate the owner
We don’t tell them until we’re done with school
and the river’s down a bit and it’s safe.
Meanwhile, from now to then, we hide the boat
and stock her up bit by bit over time
and when she’s ready we head downriver
and get a message back here that we’re fine
and not to even try to search for us.”
“Let’s do it,” Hart says with sudden firmness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over the weeks after our pact and vow
we furtively bring supplies to the boat
floating in a dim hidden backwater
camouflaged with fallen leafy branches.
Each trip, we transfer a few provisions
away from our unsuspecting households
Often, we go separately at odd times
when pilfering has least chance of notice
On the jaunts alone to the hidden boat
I have ample time to observe details
of our splendid intention taking shape
We never doubt the rightness of the boat
The giddiness that bubbles up each time
I see her is sufficient proof of that
What troubles me is the blank future days
filled only with boat and river, and Hart
one long flowing contentment that cannot
possibly be as pleasant as it seems
I can’t see beyond the river current’s
one-pointed force pushing my life ahead
relentless, clear, unknown, unintended.
Leaving comes so sweet it hardly matters
Staying now so unthinkable I pay
no attention at all to this option
How strange that only weeks ago I feared
I would never leave – I could see no way –
and now even if the boat burns or sinks
I am so firm-intended I would just
walk away – yes, just walk away – just walk
I leave the boat and walk back to the road
There, I look down toward Chickapee and see
it as I never have seen it before
Always before, it had been a gateless
barrier, uncrossable, ending dead
Now this same road lays its back down for me
invites me to just walk its curving bends
Tears from nowhere well up and wet my cheeks
tears with no reason but still, wide relief
Why this sudden openness where the way
held barred and locked for all the years ‘til now?
Why this instant easy passage where none
existed or at least I could not see?
The shift is clear and startling as a bird
flushed into flight before my very eyes.
Yes, the bird! The different sparrow chirping
boisterously outside the teacher’s room
At once, I see the reason for the change
I’ve been waiting all these years for magic –
that one person, place, or thing to whisk me
to happiness with no effort on my part
Some magical one whose form I can’t name
the one who’s never coming – never was
I am my own magical rescuer
I see I have been waiting needlessly
I could have left at any time I chose
Although I’m still thankful for the red boat,
its message is much broader than its beam
It whispers, “You are free – always have been”
I could have walked out any time at all
Just choose and leave – choose and leave – walk away
When I tell Hart these truths, he’s not impressed
“You just saw the light? I’m surprised,” he says
“That explains why you didn’t run with Jani.
I have wondered about that all this time.”
“Why have you stayed?” I ask feeling foolish
“It wasn’t time until now,” Hart observes
“Never mind,” I say grinning. “It does not
matter since we will be gone in three days.”
“That’s more your kind of time,” he says smiling
So, it happens three days later when we
announce we have found a boat and will try
to find the owner upstream. No one stops us
asks questions or raises protests – saying
“Seems like the best thing to do if you want.”
So, we simply walk away – walk away
run away to our boat with ten days’ stores
So, finely provisioned, we drift downstream
away from Chickopee and into dream
“Well, that was easy,” I say as we drift
with the current, steering only to miss
logs and sandbars and beds of river weeds
“Yeah. Why not?” says Hart as he pulls on oars
“I can’t get over how easy it was”
“You’re not hungry or cold yet,” all he says.
Hunger? Cold? Such things are far from my mind
Summer has started and provisions stored
We have clothes and blankets. Who could ask more?
Freedom makes me lightheaded and giddy
Hart stays somber like a sailor on watch
We float past farms and fields, a few small towns
At sunset we pull off into the reeds
Blankets and canvas laid out in the boat
I lie awake after Hart, staring up
through flushed rustling leaves to the wide-mouthed stars
Crickets and frogs spill continuous songs
streaming up to join white light, and I am
one in this silence with all this rich noise
As I reach the flat edge of sleepiness
I think how long it has been since I’ve tried
to recall my dreams – not since Jani left
I notice. It’s time. Tonight, I will . . .
. . . diving deeper than I have ever been
the sea’s weight presses me like a great stone
Hand over hand I follow anchor chain
down down deep to the floor of the green sea
the steel links are molten hot on my hands
but do not scorch me as I hold them firm
At hull-crushing depth where green fades to gray
I find jagged anchor claws clutching ground
My ship rocks above – rigged ghost floating pale
Disarmed dreadnaught, tethered under folded sail
I wake with a jolt. The night’s gone quiet
except river ripples against the boat
All of the day’s joy sinks bleak and listless
into opaque water at this dusky hour
This is no ship. This river is no sea.
I can’t go home. Why is this not easy?
The dreamed-up ship and the boat where I sit
rock sluggishly bow to stern nodding ‘yes’
Hart snores softly beside. How can he sleep?
He should be awake! He should console me!
Get hold of yourself, I say silently
It is just the dark. It is just a dream
No, this is different. This is what is real,
says that assured truth-telling voice inside
I can’t go back. I can never go home
You’ve never been home. That is why you left,
says the patient, unseen speaker again
I sit up clutching my knees to my chest
Hart mumbles something and rolls over flat
“I have wanted this all my life,” I say
under my breath trying to touch truth’s core
But you have never lived this life ‘before,
comes the gentlest whisper soothing my stress
I will live this now, I pledge to myself
I sit watching the summer river flow
thinking this same water touched Chickopee
and now I see it and, in a moment,
gliding south it becomes wider and brown
Sleep is gone and so I watch the sunrise
and I listen to Hart’s soft dreaming sounds
wondering if he walks on some firmer ground
The morning of the second day the sun
broils up immense in shimmers and cloud-streaks
the still air wet and heavy on our skin
Sweat beads on our foreheads and on our necks
“I’m hot – I’m going for a swim” I say
to Hart who lies with hands behind his head
blinking himself into some wakefulness
“Okay,” he croaks and yawns from his damp bed
I stumble to shore over roots and weeds
to a private place within tall bushes
where I can relieve myself unnoticed
Crouching there, I see a spider spinning
webs hung with tiny droplets of diamond
water – spider busy repairing night’s
damages to its fragile home – its place –
suspended here where any beast or wind
can instantly deconstruct the many hours
of eight-legged labor – but inside spider
spins webs for a delicate dozen abodes
How rich in homes this thin-legged spider
and I squat here having not even one
Elimination done and dug, I leave
and do not disturb the wealthy spider
At the river’s edge I strip all my clothes
drape them carefully on dry gray boulders
I slip quietly beneath brown water
where I swim blindly in yellow-green light
River water brushes silky fingers
through my hair and over arms, chest and thighs
The river is my fluid perfect skin
blending, shaping river-robe as I swim
I surface and tread water looking back
and as intended, I can’t see our boat
I could be a water creature gliding
in summer light – naked, needing nothing
that this streaming river does not provide
My body cradled by this silky stream
yearns deeply for fins and tail, gills and scales
I dive again, stroking hard for bottom
I lay my back along the river bed
mud-holding weedy edge with hands and feet
– oh, to lie and to breathe here and to sleep
with only flooding pressure as I weep
Lungs expended, I must break the surface
As I burst to air, I see no purpose
to another bottom dive – all too brief –
I am not a fish. This is not the sea
I breaststroke back to shore wincing tears back
about my limitations to be free
I shake off the water, put on my clothes
and return to the red boat where Hart eats
a large green apple. I grab one myself
and join him. We crunch in noisy silence
until he says, “Let’s go.” and I agree
We pole to the river-running channel
Still no wind and sun rising full and hot
Ship in my head and this boat that is not
Once in the channel, we sit slumped, with oars
drawn in and laid at the bottom of the bobbing boat
Current pushes us side to side, off straight
carrying us wherever such currents go
rhythmic lapping on both sides of the boat
I raise up squinting at the river banks
where a blaze-coated fox bends, lapping too
I turn back to center now eyes narrowed
“What’s that?” I ask Hart, but more to myself
“What? He says without looking up to see
“No, look,” I say, pointing to a blackened tree
waterlogged and jutting at an angle
“It’s just a dead tree fallen off the bank.”
“Okay, but have you ever seen a lump
that size growing on a tree that large?
“I see it!” He is suddenly interested
Unexpectedly, the curious bump moves
forward heading for the tree’s higher end
The relentless current floats us sideways
to the tree trunk’s mobile skin and shortly
the mound grows a beaked head jutting out from
a two-foot, plated, algae-covered shell
When we draw close to this river dragon
he snaps his bony beak – extends his head
“Looks like turtle soup to me,” Hart exclaims.
“That’s a snapper, idiot,” I shoot back
The beast again beats its jaws and hisses
backing slowly down the log on bowed legs
I am glad this would-be dragon does not
sport wide wings to lift us, four-legs pendant
his hard-ridged tail dangling like a rudder
and held tight within his toothless old snout
Such fantastic thoughts take me back to dreams
And river oceans and great dragon ships
The reptile slips off the log into water
The river roils with some deadly battle
Soon the monster surfaces beak around
an amphibious rodent, doomed in the jaws
The rodent flails and squeals held tight thrashing
as a broad-winged blue heron glides in landing
long beak probing surface water, walking
back now nearer shore toward the primal battle
while Hart and I slack-jawed assess the scene
The blue one advances toward the quarrelers
The snapper’s shell enough to resist the stabs
Its beak doesn’t let go the shrieking mammal
Those jaws built to kill just keep hanging on
while the great blue bird arches and flaps wings
attacking as intended to steal the food
This dual battle takes but few minutes
as we watch and feel the weight of ages
cutting into our chests and on our hearts
Speech impossible, we drift downriver
The snapper and the heron separate
as the turtle cracks the small rodent
The blue one wades out and jabs the water
All three recede from view as the river
carries us silent southward
After witnessing such natural violence
we both exhale and shake our heads
“Guess there will be no sail again today,”
I say trying to sound chipper, cheerful
“Guess not,” says Hart sounding almost downcast
“Well, I’ll take the first turn at oars,” I say
gingerly taking my station and sculls
“Sure,” says Hart moving to the red boat’s bow
“Are you always chatty in the morning
or did that battle din plug up my ears?”
“You’re not used to me when I first get up,”
Hart stretches and yawns and smacks his dry lips
“Stop! Stop! Let me get a word in, will you?”
I make fun of his bushel of ten words
but he just stares blearily and snorts once
With this morning phantom’s silence, I start
to sing a song we learned in school but I’ve
only warbled one line or two when Hart
says, “Stop it. I can’t think.” He’s serious
“Oh pardon, pardon, a thousand pardons!”
I try to take it lightly though I’m hurt
“I like quiet in the morning,” he says
“I like noise. My thoughts are too disturbing”
“All the more reason to listen to them”
“When I listen to them, I go crazy”
“Well, if you never listen to yourself,
how will you ever know your mind and thoughts?”
“I listen to myself!” I say loudly
with too much defensiveness – I’m fearful
of where this conversation is going
“So what disturbing thoughts are you having?”
“Never mind,” I say and sulk in silence
“Look,” I nod toward the shoreline
where another blue heron angles breakfast
“Nice bird. Don’t change the subject,” Hart replies
“I tell you I’ll give up morning quiet
anytime to learn what is in your head.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I quip pulling harder
“This is going to be one long trip, all right”
“D’ya want to get off now and walk back home?”
I ask because I might if he doesn’t
“Of course not, idiot. But I do think
we shouldn’t go much farther arguing
This is a good a time to share darkest secrets”
“So, you start with yours,” I say stubbornly
“Okay, but then it’s your turn after me”
He wags one finger sternly in my face
“Here goes. Okay. I woke up so frightened.”
“You too!?” I almost drop the starboard oar
“Aha! See, this is how it works, my friend.”
He slaps his thigh, and his big grin appears
“I say what I am thinking and you change!
You’re interested – it works in reverse too.
So, what were you afraid of?” He’s attentive
“Well, I’m not sure. I try not to think much.”
“Here’s a chance to try,” Hart encourages
“No, you first. You’re the one who brought up fear.”
“All right,” Hart concedes with mock impatience.
“I’ve got two points to zero so far now.”
“Not unless you say what you’re afraid of.”
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