Wandering

During these endless days, I live my life

in the family room where I wake in darkness

on the narrow bed. It is cool in the night, and from

this new dwelling, I can still see the orientation

of the world. I sense the constellations

slowly disappearing, leaving their silvery veil

over a clay canyon along the road to the house.

Instead on many nights I sense a reverie, traveling

along the river where I play with my brothers when we are

young boys, where, in its shallow edges, crayfish swirl up

a mix of rounded pebbles and feathery dust plumes

of earth. I dream vividly, navigate and

travel through meadows of memory, use my imagination

at will and slow my breath to linger in this space.

In that time, the river beckoned to us

as an escape, its uneven motion dangerous and wonderful

and alive. In this meadow, I am a visitor,

reach far back and see myself and my lost brothers as

we were once upon a time. This fairy tale part of

our inheritance, its quality of golden light, the taste of

meadow grass floating in the air.

The river rock prickles the tender skin of

our bare feet as we splash and

plunge our hands into the mirrors of water,

spearing the crayfish hiding in the riverbeds.

I see my brothers running along rocky beaches

through the warm salty sprays, the waves washing their feet.

The summer moon rises across the horizon,

marking out its domain, and together

we crouch down under its wide light,

digging.

Georgia San Li is at work on a novel, poetry and other writings. Her writing has appeared in Quarter After Eight, Eclectica Magazine and has been short listed by La Piccioletta Barca and the New Millenium Writing Awards. She has worked in cities including London, Tunis, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Paris, Wilhelmshaven and Tokyo. She is American, born in the Midwest, and currently lives in New England.