Bob Gossom
Dedicated to Kris Kristofferson. An homage to "Me and Bobby McGee."
Flowing
Cold, wet, dusk
Hitchhiking in the rain
Lost in the Willamette Valley
in LA clothes
He didn’t know why she stopped
but she did
The truck heater was a meal
sending life back
to his wet denim legs
“A year in LA was enough for me,
too many ruthless people”
“Ruthless people are lying”
was her reply
They drove in silence
and then in words
He’d like to remember what he said
but her voice is still within him
“I'm a beekeeper”
as she reached across the truck
offering her finger to his mouth
“Here try the taste of honey”
He got a job with the milk cows
Each evening
under the aspens
behind their small house
He poured a pint of warm milk over her head
watching it flow
through her hair
and down her neck
She took the salt from his skin
and gave him a taste of the honey
that came from her day
One day he brought out his camera.
She watched him collect fragments of
their lives, pieces meant for frames and
walls, while she remained whole un-
broken by the lens. The next week she
said it was time for him to move on.
He wakes at night
and wanders alone
through a house full of photographs
There is one small book of prints
down in the corner of a bookshelf
which he rarely opens
Through the front window
his eye frames the moon
while his thoughts return
to a woman
flowing
with milk and honey