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Soul Stance River - 19

Through April and May not a single Indian has been noticed
along all the serpentine bends of this rambunctious river,
however I feel we are being espied by a jealous warparty
immortal in it's protection of this pristine country
where nothing but the raw material of life abounds,
a natural creativity of survival that has elluded the machinery of Man,
sometimes it pangs me to know we will interrupt this grace,
as for now interruption has been the purview of this river
with it's turgid currents, ransacking waves, harpooning logs,
boulders that were born to bash the brazen boatman
and that stiff, lampooning wind,
yesterday the pirogue that carries our journals and scientific equipment
nearly flipped due to Charbonneau's cherry hysteria,
after entering cascades the bow took a heavy dip forward
got turned like a compass needle
then the sail was punched by a nasty squall
that brought her to lay sideways and take on turbid waters,
as I watched from shore, priceless baggage and tools
were beginning to float in the unforgiving foams,
alas, Sacagawea, with a hawk's poise in a stormfront
managed to salvage almost everything herself
except for one of my journals, the one from Spring 1804 through this March,
devastated is an understatement, 
to know that the observations of my soul, the paintings of my thoughts
and all of those amazing emotions and experiences of the group
are soaking away into the amnesia of an illiterate riverbed is heartbreaking,
but several of the men, including Clark are filling journals
so many moments are being recorded,  but mine have perished,

The riverbanks are beginning to grow higher and steeper as we proceed,
the roots of cottonwood trees snake in and out of the soft soil walls,
avalanches of brownish red clay break and slide abruptly
as if detonations set by water demons are discharging,
Sergeant Gass' canoe was nearly clobbered this morning in the narrows,
approaching a slim bend ahead with tall bluffs is a vision of carnage
that spoils the splendor of utopia
and seemingly portends the extinction of a noble species, 
wolves, in gypsy numbers
scavenging the scattered and piled corpses of buffalos
that fell through the frozen river a month ago,
my memories of weeks past with buffalo so docile
that I'd walk amongst them as they grazed on the grass
running my hands over the wooly silk fur of their backs
not the slightest suspicion of threat in their eyes of marbled serenity
and to see them now, victims of calamity and the bite of k9's is disturbing, 
the wolves are so preoccupied with gorging themselves,
their faces lathered in bloody foam, easy marks for us
who desire the delicacy of their leg marrow and the prize of their pelts,
in this sequence of mishap opportunist gnaw, and sharpshooters steal
I wonder to what, and when Fate will stop our steps,

J.A.B.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015




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Date: 12/26/2015 7:30:00 PM
I like his keen awareness, and his sensitive heart there.."sometimes it pangs me to know we will interrupt this grace"there are so many memorable lines in this section...beautiful! Also, the buffalo scene was sad...a disheartening scene, but a teaching one, that will not end this tale! Always, Laura
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Justin Bordner
Date: 12/28/2015 2:14:00 AM
The journal, the wolves, the suffering along with the bliss of this journey shaped their hearts Laura...J.A.B.
Date: 12/26/2015 7:28:00 PM
You write Lewis's experience with passion, Justin. I just love his beautiful soul in this epic, and feel the pangs of loss when he lost his journal :/ "however I feel we are being espied by a jealous warparty immortal in it's protection of this pristine country where nothing but the raw material of life abounds"..that gives me chills!
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Justin Bordner
Date: 12/28/2015 2:12:00 AM
Mmmmm....yes Laura, they must have felt as though the Natives, Destiny, and Fate were constantly on their trail. It means so much to me my lovely Poetess that the passion has become so visceral for you...J.A.B.