Bridge

Red Wolf Crossing, Snake River

You must understand the river

was a river then

not a pool behind a dam

above a pool behind a dam

above a pool behind a dam

and so on

I could go on

but see how the flow of the poem here is likewise unaesthetically halted

though this was then I’m talking about

and there was no poetry then

no poetry at all

that was not spoken and spoken

chanted and sung

as the river itself might be said to have sung and sung

though that would be to personify to sentimentalise

to make of the river a conscious being aware

of its own voice

aware of the other-way rush of the salmon

which this myth would have as the first bridge

young Red Wolf and the woman he loved

and chased among the drying racks and alder fires

the woman who laughed

and sprinting left him flat-footed and breathless

on the shore

her feet so lightly coming down

on the broad silver backs and rolling blue bellies

on the rounded red sides of the sockeyes

that she was in his eyes walking

on water though nothing

made a god of her anymore than she herself

on the far shore

when she shed her robe and smiled and made ready

from which also comes the word redd

river womb for egg and milt

and Red Wolf or the father of Red Wolf

or the fathers of all men

leaped and began