Oxbow

That lake there used to be part of the river. Can’t tell you when and I don’t imagine that there’s anyone alive today who can but I’ve got this feeling in me… got to be something about its shape or its proximity to the banks that got me thinking they were once one.

When the coppers come there gonna imagine the same thing. They’ll find you there by my land and my door will be the first that they’ll knock. I’d let them in, of course, but I’ll play the fool a little while. Do you think mother river denies the existence of her son the lake? I bet she does. Look at him. Stunted, inadequate. Barely getting by. All it would take would be a long summer and baby would be long gone. I bet the river wants nothing to do with that lake. I’d want nothing to do with you and sure enough when the troops come in their four by four trucks I’ll make sure they know.

It’s shaped a lot like a horseshoe, ain’t it? Funny that. Funny how an abandoned child could seem, in moments, a lot more fortunate that those under the tyrannical grip of bedtimes and study and limited TV time. I think that in good time that lake’s gonna be a bog. Probably a swamp. Green and murky and full of life that’s not good enough for the flowing river. A lot like you, baby girl. Gone baby, gone. All alone in the wild world. Don’t you point that condemning finger at me. I can see the skin start to rot off. No, you fuck off. Daddy needed to make some changes to his life and you were a hindrance to that. Well, your free now and so am I. So why do I hear the whirring of a helicopter? Who called them here? What do they expect to find?

Tell me, love. What’s it like down there? You always wanted to play with the otters when you were younger. How is it to sleep by them now? When we first moved here I was told to watch out for them. Always carried a rifle with me on any walk by the water. Are they really that treacherous or was it just an old wives’ tale? I remember the first time I heard them cry out to God. That shrill break in the rythmic orchestra of the jungle. It was frightening. You clasped onto my leg. You were terrified. So was I. So was I.

I’m on my porch, rifle in hand. They’re coming for me. A man knows. A man can tell when the world is out to get him. Their decade old engines are roaring from the river’s bend. Soon they’ll be here from the sky, from the land, and from the jungle sea. One of them will walk up to my porch. Loud, boisterous… a simple man but a man nonetheless. From his eyes will be a distant gravitas. He will not want it to overwhelm me. He won’t invite himself into my house on account of the rifle I brandish braggadociously. He’ll probably ask for a cup of coffee with a handful of sugar. I know I won’t say no. I’ll get him his coffee but we’ll have it right on the porch so I can see if his dogs start sniffing around for a corpse. Play the fool. Play the fool. No one’s gonna go into that lake. Not with those otters and their bloodlust. Not with this rifle in my hand.

Day by day nothing everything is pretty much the same but spend an hour contemplating your life and you realize it’s all different. All of it. When did I stop looking at you as though you were a treasure? When did my desire for a better life supersede my awe of you, your existence, your place in my life? You on my lap before a sunset. You and me forever and ever. That was the story we we were supposed to have written. Wasn’t that the story we were writing?

Second after second everything is now in flux. I see the future running to me like a cheetah after a gazelle. Down the abyss I go. It might be a better world that you now reside in. Free of fear. Free of worry. Free of me. Did you fear me as your time was coming to a close? Did you see it coming? I bet all prey animals can smell their end. I bet all predators are left in a state of trepidation at their deed and veneration over their power. I’ve got a lot of that in me now. A lot of intrepid worship over the fear I have brought upon myself. There will be no running from this. The law might miss something. Their courts might find me innocent but God up above will keep me humble with momentary reminders of the predator that I am. What will I see in the mirror from here on out? Better blacken those sons of bitches. Better sleep with a night light on lest my conscience will materialize into a monster of the night.

Maybe that lake is me. Excluded from the world. An inverted island watching myself turn green, murky and devoid of any connection to a source of fresh life. I’m the dying organism. You are not dead. You are free and I get to watch myself gift you with freedom every time I shut my eyes… Fuck my life.