but I was there
in '83 the first trip after the crew cab washed down Diamond
when Dennis or Gary
one of the oldtimers I had not yet replaced
no, the shuttle guy from OARS
threw the keys into the flood: no use for them anymore,
the truck doing enders in the flash and the guides clinging to the wall
two weeks worth into the river
(no scrubbing the coolers, but god forgive the groover's load)
where once in awhile when the water was low and the shist curled black tendrils of stone
the old seat springs would appear.
I was there when Martha flipped
in Crystal in January
in the winter
in the new wave with Joe who could not grab the rope
and a Hualapai who could not swim,
Crumbo swearing what the when he heard later
what were they thinkin' two girls and a two boat trip?
well, I'll tell ya. we were thinking paycheck
and beer around a pinyon fire and of the boys
and them not there to tell us
and summer,
when there could be no fire
and one of Martha's stories
and Wesley feeding mangoes to the boat girls at Havasu,
and being called little darlin' by the motor riggers.
summer, another time
when the old guides would talk about Georgie
as if this was not some abyss we'd all fallen into
but a life
and we'd be there forever.
When Walter said take me to the hematite mine
I nearly lost my job stealing the NPS boat to get him there
while the arch crews mapped where the ancestrals had been
and what they'd dropped and who knows
what;
he smudged stripes of red onto my face,
my white girl's nose
and cheeks and for weeks
I had an orange glow
but like Walter said: I was now protected from evil
and he laughed
his old wrinkled gingersnap of glee face crinkling
into a million lives ago, before any of us.
But I always thought I would hear the conch blown for coffee
the canyon wren up and down her scales,
the sound of Granite before you see it creeping up your back
like knobby fingers
because that is what old guides do,
they look downriver and ahead
where there is no end
in sight.
