Each month, write a new collection.
This is going to be remembering a picket fence at 5 in the morning in January in Coupeville.This is going to be walking on a deserted dark road along that fence to hitch a ride with KaMika to our writing classes.KaMika is not yet broke, has not yet lost her house, divorced her husband and hurt her arms so much she can’t typeWhich means she has to write with her voice alone and that’s weird if you’re a writer. Which KaMika is.This is going to be about riding with her to writing classes every morning and riding back with her every night.This is going to be about her and my other friends who I meet that Winter:Candy who lends me her printer and gives me coffee. Sarah who is crazy and Jewish and who likes everything I wrote. Barbara who is crazy about animals and doesn’t like most of what I wrote.And Bernadette, who likes most of what I wrote and is always nice (except that one time) and who writes kick-ass stories about sexually driven judges and murders that are on the cusp of happening. In epics you often see something called a “heroic list.” That was one just now.Others come to walk that picket fence at 5 am to go to classes. To give me a ride, but these are the originals. These are the First.I am busy living it all, smoking dope with KaMika by the water off Ebey’s Preserve. I am drinking with Bernadette, driving Sarah to the airport with enough luggage for 4 people. So I don’t notice at first that things will of course end. The classes end.The writing school closes.Now, I walk by that fence in the daytime. But I’m not going to visit anyone.Sarah will break both arms in Pensacola, while her mother dies in Tel Aviv.Bernadette won’t give up but she will find being a mystery writer frustrating. She will almost win an important prize. Twice.Barbara will go to teach community college after her father dies.Candy will work with agent who will make her rewrite her novel 4 or 5 times. She gives up and starts another one.KaMika will work at Macy’s. She will not have time to write much. That doesn’t mean she isn’t still a writer.I will walk further east tomorrow, and watch canoes racing in the cove. The point isn’t to win. The point is to get there.All together. Without tipping overThe boat.
The riverI was in MontanaRiding a ten speedNobody on the roadJust me and the rangeOf Bridger MountainsIt was green with the Sky so blue you couldGo blind looking upAnd wondering if thereWere a cloud in the skyIf you would not mind itOr maybe curse at it forDestroying the ocean of Blue, dark as the pictureOn the canvas without a hintOf white or shade covering itMaking the ride down and up Again a memorable time withoutThinking about the moment just To enjoy the lush forest alongThe edges of the roadAnd the peculiar skyMaking the most out Of being thereBorrowing somebody's bicycleFor about three hours and justtaking a bike ride into BozemanThe nearest city, it was a ridelike no other, a beautiful placeWhere I could feel free and notHave to worry of bills to payRent to save, whether the nextshoe was going to dropI was in Montana for a monthtraveling with my dad's footballcoach who went up to take the tripon a regular basis as I was on the summer of 81 and taking a college course which was five units from La Verne.My dad was giving me the opportunityto be on the trip and paid for my tuitionIt was the class that traveled on the historic route of Lewis and Clark with their expedition through the northwestWe kept a journal and went on ten riversOne of the rivers I rememberWas Yankee JimI dumped the kayakand could not roll back upTo right myselfand fearing the worstI pulled the skirt offof the kayak and bailedout upside down being tossed like in a washingmachine when I followed my instinct to the surfaceand reached up to gasp fora breath of air To the moment Of yelling "help"and going back undercoming up again to findthe end of a rope trailinga kayak to pull me the restof the way down the riverI was so happy to have been saved from drowningIt was a paradiseI wish I hadevery summer'But the closest I had ever beenback was whenI flew into Jackson hole WyThe river is well respected from the experience of The Yellowstone