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Life along the Mississippi
The Mississippi River will always have its own way
–Mark Twain
When I was little,
Grandma Mickey
taught me
how to spell
the longest river
in the US.
M – I – S – S –
[small steps]
I – S – S –
[tiny sounds]
I – P – P – I
[like praying the
rosary, which
she did every night,
the penitent patter
of droplets cascading
down her palm]
– – –
A father at 22.
What do you do?
At 24, have one more!
So we moved to be
closer to my mom
& raised our boys
on the shifting banks
of the Mississippi,
allowing our lives
to become fluvial.
– – –
5 years later,
I was of 2 minds:
lonely & unfulfilled.
When she put
the boys to bed,
I would go for drives,
along both sides
of the Mississippi,
listening to my mix CDs.
The steep bluffs never
allowing me
to escape the course
of the river.
– – –
After my Master’s Degree,
she had enough &
called it quits.
So I moved away
to the other side
of the Mississippi
& saw my sons
on the weekends.
Back then, during the drive,
I would smoke & throw
my cigarettes butts
out the window,
seeding the floodplain
w/ stubs of my guilt.
– – –
Sometimes, you & I,
after evening classes, would
take a drive along
the Mississippi
listening to the playlist
on my iTunes Shuffle
w/ the Empire Builder
rumbling in the other direction.
Now & then, I wonder,
if we were on that train,
where would we be now?
Or, were we just circling
in a fleeting eddy?
– – –
Later, I took another job
& moved further upriver.
Every other weekend,
I would drive
2 hours
to see my sons,
measuring time w/ eagles.
I would spot them
perched in their nests
in the morning yellow,
watch them
soaring above the river
in the green afternoon,
& spy them gathered
around a hole
in the ice during the gray
wintery evening.
After all went dark,
2 headlights navigating
up/down the Mississippi.
– – –
Now, after 7 years away,
I fly back every summer
to see my sons, my mom,
& the Mississippi—
my life still
a tributary
feeding the river.
Photo by Justin Wilkens on Unsplash
opusculum 