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The Riverbank's Memories

Long after the blades have straightened, after the rains have washed them clean, after snow has killed the grass and new growth risen with the sun, after years does the riverbank remember me? Does the knowledge of my body, caressed by grass and sun and gravity, does that memory fade? The air is heavy with the threat of storm - vapor and electricity - or is it with the memories of all the bodies that have rested there? Sitting with legs tucked, sprawling full length under a sun that's warm and high, reclining as it sets. Memories. Vapor and electricity. When the clouds let loose, water cleansing the sky, do memories wash away, down to the river to the sea where the past collects in the deep rifts? When the snow falls, killing the grass, are there memories drawn down into the soil, only to be drawn back up into the spring green? There are stories in the grass, in the river. Tales in the clouds, the rain, the trees. What stories? Whose tales? After winter, after death, after years does the riverbank remember me?

c. 1994