Riding the rapids
When you were small I lifted you, still sleeping,
into the car where you curled – an animal hoarding warmth.
Driving a pre-dawn
Idaho straight stretch
the rearview mirror captures
your arm, outside the quilt
as if you'd just released a ball.
It lolls, rolls while we climb
up and up over the mountain
until, far above the Payette River
you wake. It is light.
We step outside.
Kayakers barrel through rapids
hundreds of feet below us.
You lean into me warm
a little sleepy
your head just above
my waist. I take the band
from your hair
brush the sandy tangle.
Wind lofts a single strand
whips it up then down
sends it whirlpooling
across the canyon.
The pull of your hair
resistance and release
resistance and release
you take just a half step away
closer to the edge.
I weave a long braid that reaches
your own waist, gently pulling
you closer to me.
--Melissa Madenski
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