Pilgrimage

One day I'll drive there. On the way I'll tell my wife about the Modoc woman, who lived outside the city, above a sea lion rookery. She taught me a Klamath-Modoc prayer: “I want you animals to know, open your eyes, a hungry man has killed one of you. One day we will find out what happened to its spirit then we will go meet with it, for it was my brother.” She rowed a boat on the spume of the wild cove waves. I knew her, she had the way of truth in her. When I get to the Redwoods, I'll visit her clapboard home. Look for her twelve year old Ford truck, her briny patch of hand-reared garden, her small surf-riding boat. The sheriff reported her, `missing in transit.' Maybe she went off with that son-of-a- jailbird who had twice tried to kill her. I'll take the back roads, getting lost until we reach the ocean. When we get to Crescent City, we'll sit by the harbor and watch the sea lions savoring their deep throated funk. I'll tell my wife I love her, and she will taste the salt of my words.