sunday, february 6

Listen.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Portland, Oregon

I return, to you, snow-crusted slopes

of a plateau called Cumberland.

Its features-friends missed.

I see trees stripped bare of leaves,

resting painfully, but resting still

in Winter's hands.

And in this snow I see footprints

made by friends named Jane, Katie,

Libby, Reed and Bran.

Prints telling countless stories, and

out of them I hear laughter, singing,

stories, sniffles.

Now, winds curl snow around their edges,

and the sounds become muffled as

definition obscured.

Sight returns to this city of industry and

Youth-smells of gasonline, exotic food, and hope

sometimes deadened by a weed.

Youthful, progressive maybe, but city still-

fraught thus with its illnesses implicit in a

system such as this.

Yet when clouds clear to show its mountain

Guardian, this city and its people

Slow and Remember.

A deep-seated and often forgotten feeling

still exists below a city's

manhole covers.

That inherent knowledge of truth known in

Silence of wind-swept, snow-covered slopes,

and quiet, protected coves.

Where that which is feared meets

that which fears, and it leaves as

snow melts and spring comes.

When trees reclaim color and life that

Lay dormant for a time, just as our

cities will someday do.

As they must.