Journal

At night I’d read its pages

Even the names

too beautiful to believe

Matkatamiba

Deer Creek, Thunder River

Elves Chasm, Tapeats Creek

Trout longer than your arm

in the eddy at Saddle Canyon

 

The rumpled pages

jogged my memory

about the river

Mudbaths in the Little Colorado

The balmy air at night

when the sunbaked wind

finally cooled enough

to let us sleep

 

I remembered the Canyon

Flash floods pouring red

from Soap Creek, Ryder Canyon

Nankoweap

During the day, I had to keep moving

The adrenalin at Lava Falls

Crystal, House Rock

The green-blue waters

of Havasu Creek

and little travertine pools

to dive in

What's So Feminine About a Mandolin?

The way a big man holds it

Petite waist cradled near

Belly high, pulled in close

Not like the too-big guitar

(Pelvis banging, fondled

Out here, far from his heart)

The way the tunes he picks

Are named for women, mostly

Little Sadie, Rosa Lee

The tremolo that pierces

Sally Goodin, Baby Girl

High and sweet, the drone he thought

Once bored his ears

Now something he desires

The way the rosewood resonates

Whole souls, entire rooms

Mother-of-pearl makes a fretboard fair

Rounded tailpiece fits his hand

Paired strings sound as one

Twin tones a little off, still

Singing unison

from Shenandoah, The Washington and Lee University Review,

Traditional Music Issue.  Vol 56, No. 2, Fall 2006