Saturday, April 11, 2015


I grew up in Papua New Guinea, living with a tribe in the middle of the jungle. We lived along a river, a large tributary to the great Sepik River. I've often wondered how it would feel to go back. Or are memories better?

April 11 - Poem 11


Mud between my toes
River silt from the flash flood
The roar of water
The smell of earth
The cool, the quick
The rush
Would I feel the same now?
Adult and aware
Of crocodiles
Of snakes
Of amoebas
Or could I float
Carried around the bend
Laughing and watching
Letting myself go
Isn't that it right there?
Can I be innocent again?
Can I undo the knowing?
Can I float
Be carried
Let go of control?
Little river
Roaring waters
Fish and shrimp and bugs
I miss my lack of fear
I miss the mud
I miss release
Let's go on a float
We'd say
Through the village
Through the bush
Tramping along through pitpit and thorns
Easing ourselves
The water cold
And murky
And then freedom
And then sunshine on my face
And then the water carries you
And nothing you can do will help
It does it well on its own
Just float
Just float
Just float

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