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.