MAP SELF PORTRAIT
Deltas, bluffs, sandbars, mooring, buoys, piers, driftwood
I miss the Mississippi, I wish I could float on home.
It was never a blue river. The rivers here in Portland are earthy, too. Still, the brown waters of the Mississippi were a great comfort when I was blue. I remember taking the bus downtown and walking over to the river view at Confederate Park. I sat on a park bench next to the old cannons, wondering if I’d ever launch.
If I was more energetic, I could go down to the water’s edge and put my feet in it — usually touching it was enough. Often seeing it was enough. The flow — the rolling along.
I wanted so badly to get out of Memphis. Now that I’m firmly rooted here in the Northwest — where other rivers roll along & carry away my blues — I pine for it all the time. The place itself seems like magic — but I miss my sister, my family, all the beautiful friends I have there.
Is autumn the time of universal longing for home?
My rivers are the Mississippi & Wolf
rivers run through me,
all rivers run to oceans
I dream of floating
more than I dream
floating is an easier dream
I can do it while still
I will first have
Home is an idea — an illusion that weighs heavily on my heart, that floats like a raft in my stream