We all deal with loss. This piece is based on a vivid memory from a long time ago. A backpacking trip to the Sierras had me thinking, without cessation, about a previous girlfriend . . .
You Were With Me
For five days
of impossibly blue Sierra skies,
of scalloped waves in a melting snowfield,
of the thick ribbon of fast clear water,
you were with me.
The mountains I loved
were never part of your world.
I climbed,
full of random thought
upon forever switchbacks,
watching fluttering memories
like high meadow butterflies.
Sleepless, under a fishnet of stars and satellites,
fatigue unable to overwhelm thought.
Our discordant echo of failed love
had slowly faded over three years.
Until your flash flood
crashed down from some high canyon,
and I was swept away
in a torrent of unremitting worry.
The July third light faded around the council fire.
A well-tuned friend
heard your call
in my fearful musings.
Reach out, he said,
when we get down.
Could you feel my trepidation,
stronger than gravity itself?
But you had already left.
Your waiting news, my only companion
on the long bus home.
The droning night highway
cloaked my tears.
Passing fireworks
blossomed on windows,
their dripping colors
painting the disparity
of rain
pooling in my soul.
