When we leave we need to pass this on
To hop the twig with two handfuls,
Head bent to follow the echo
Whether an other’s or our own.
When you’ve got this, then we’ll go
Wading the tough river with its noise
Underfoot, clay between toes
Toward the jutted bank, the hang-tooth of slate
Cradling our wake, following a trace
Of rude noise that roaring
Churns between our teeth and
Tongue, and out through folds of mud.
Poem by Lewis Hunt Onatra and Kei Patrick. Illustration by Kathleen Quaintance.