Image provided by: Clackamas Community College; Oregon City, OR
About The Clackamas print. (Oregon City, Oregon) 1989-2019 | View Entire Issue (May 29, 1996)
Gross - morning As soon as she dies, I get her money!! ODE TO A PULOW I see my pillow in the clouds, The puffs soft on my cheek. Goose down feathers float dreams so sweet I taste your mandarin orange meringue with my mouth, when in sorrow I sleep. I feel the sweet dipped chocolate lover of night when pressing my head in you. Your marshmallow goo helps me to melt into silence. I hold you my sugar plum on Christmas Eve. in winter, I know white and cool you wait for me. Jean dreamed... She floated lazily over the tree tops. Below her, (klill CreeRsang its raucous tune as it made its bouncing, bubbling way to the restless Columbia iRiver. Wide as a lake and full of stories the deep Columbia undulated to the (Pacific Ocean. Jean wafted down and let herself become one with Hie chiding, snow-fed water. Vitality replaced her unconnected sense of lethargy as her essence blended with the rippling rush to the sea. Oversmoothly roundecCstones, and many colored pebbles they rushed. (Past sun dappled eddies where crawdads and water shippers made tneir homes. Past sun browned children nosily seeking legendary Indian treasure caves. Past the tree studded cemetery where her family members had rested for over a hun dred years. Past her grandmother’s house. She tumbled in efiuleration until in a spasm of froth, her essence was cast into, and became one with, the Columbia (River. 7 ‘The fruitful Columbia, with myriad forms of life and nutrients washed down from the mountains, prom the huge, prehistoric sturgeon lurking in the depths, to the tiny fingerling salmon, the Columbia nuturea all. Jean joined the fingerlings as they flicked in and out of rapids and still places. Urgent as men following agold rush, the young fish recklessly dashed downriver to fulfill the promise of adventure thattheir five year stay in the Pacific Ocean would bring. Por days Jean exulted in the river’s song as it harmonized with the low throbbing vibration ofthe earth. One cool moonlit night, while swishing quietly along tne edge of the river, she became aware of a cracklingfire and quietly strummingguitar accompanied by a deep human voice. She hadn’t realized until then now she had missed humankind, and let herself wash closer to the sounds. - 77 k voice was not using words, or even humming, but was making a sound more.lifp the wolfand coyote songs, so full of appreciation for nature, trilled along her way. It was a feral, cautious sound, yet open to friendliness. She liked the vibrations this cast into the fabric offife and stayed to enjoy. The ode tv nature ebbed away, and the man came to me edge of the wIf^lJ^ñl^^^éf^^qpca^óm¿DdcrfiTandTétüme(Ítdthefve^edge. (Drawing on the fire under, tfte air above, and the earth below, she released herself from, the water. . The maní being of the woods, did hot question the appearance of a _ skinny younggirl by his fire. We handed her an itchy woolblanket as, now she was in the flesh again, she was standing naked and shivering in the cool river breeze. Jis her humanfffhnhegan to warm and her eyes adjusted to seeing in the flickering fire light, she recognized the tall thin man, with deep brozan eyes and long dehcate nose, as her much loved Uncle Chet in her earth life. But this was another life, another world die did not recognize her, although his gentleness was as apparent as in the other time. Stiff not using his voice, he offered her a hot souraough biscuit from the Dutch oven slung over the fire. She had been absorbing nutrients from the river, and the flaky morsel feltoddly delicious as it melted on her tongue. She quickly ate it and, as she licked her fingers, he prepared her another with wildhoneyfrom an old fruit jar. They sat tn comfortable silence, the steam from Chet’s coffee joining with the dancing camp fire smoke. - The interst and humor sparkfingfrom Chet's copper penney brown eyes warmed Jean as much as the.food,fire, andblanket, finally, sensing she was warm and comfortable he sdid, Little Water Spirit, welcome to my camp, will you stay awhile? I have been in the high country the long winter, mining, and would like some company. With Jeans enthusiastic nodof agreement ne rose and gathered springyfir boughs to make another sleeping place by the fire. By the time he was done Jean’s human form, overwhelmed by days in the turbulent river, had tumbled over into a comfortable, snug sleep. Chet, smiling to himself, and remembering his own lost sons, gently picked her up and (aidner in the cozylittle bed-nest on the other side of thefire. Sunlight tickledJean’s eyelids, not openingher eyes, she stretched lazily, slowly becoming aware ofthe smells aroundher. The dusty smell of canvas heating in the morning sun, the warm cat smellofwool blankets, the nutrient rich mushroom smell of fresh made earth, and the just washed smell of trees still dripping from their dewy morning baths. (Mfred in were bacon, coffee, and white smokp smells, in me air and in the equipment about her, from previous fires and mornings. She then became aware of the sounds; the wake up call of the birds, the soft rustling of the trees as they whispered amongst themselves, the low murmur of the Columbia. And the busy, cheerful, sounds of morning camp! Chet’s tuneless whistle, the snap of Blankets as he shooRpine needles from them, the rambunctious little fire popping, as the perking coffee threw drops at it, and the zuind chime sound of the old mirror andstraight edge razor tapping against the . tree limb where they hung. Opening her eyes with a contented smile.... Jean awoke. Esther (Esson by Virginia Tondreau - non buiipjem ajB saajj aiu uanj Fescue Rhythms Colonies of mountain-green salt grass huddle on sands beneath Tillamook Head. Under the ocean's barrage, x ‘ *the jgra^es raise theiiy^hfcp&fs^c" voices soft as sand through fingers. Tiyirne to the wind's beat, grass roots holding fast, . all the cre^^,hu%^r^me song. I ■ Within each bunch, every separate blade moves as one; fibrous swords flex and dip, £ daifetyommuMytihm. Brown-tipped spears stlglM^sIq^yd, others stoop to sweep the strand; panicled ecru spikelets sway, their lithe dance lifting feathery heads above the crowd. I J Near the bottom of a clump, almost unseen, i 3 smg’e blade moves alone, spinning with abandon. I OF
