Thursday, January 23, 2014


I am rowing along my feet are my oars
row, step, row, step, breathe, breathe, breathe.
Merrily, merrily.
I saw seven eagles flying, trill, trill, calling.
Two white capped adults and five mottled juveniles
above the creek. I called to them,
my head tipped back compressing my delicate vertebrae
exposing my white lumped neck.
Hello eagle brothers what a fine day it is.
I bet you can smell the rotting salmon all the way up
in those cottonwood trees. They trill, trill,
call back to me soaring overhead. Showing off
feeling good because of this sudden sun that has
pulled us all out today and made us joyful
when we should be afraid.

As someone who has considered cutting things short
stopping midstream so to speak but fearing the end
incredulous that it all must end in happier times.
I feel lighter now, knowing how it might end
a lump begins somewhere and there you go.
An answer to the question.
An end to the unknowing
but miraculously
step after step, row, step, breathe, step
with my eagle brothers alive above me
and my salmon sisters dead on the creek banks
getting ready to smell as soon as the air bloody well
warms up, and it will. Hope rows along side me.

I am linked to them, the eagles and the bare trees
my flesh exposed, no more or less important.
I am in the flow and that is the point.
And I will row hard like my salmon sisters swam hard
follow my purpose which for now is the simple
act of breathing, stepping, striding, rowing.
Moving when it is time to move,
waiting when it is time to wait.
Sunning myself when the sun
calls me out into the world
along the creek beneath the trees.
My soft neck bared and open
so that the eagles might pull free
and devour what is
unwelcome in this once perfect body.
Trill, trill, call. Step, step. row. Breathe.


chum said...

thinking of you, rowan.

Rowan Moore Seifred said...

Thanks Chum.

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