Something Lost

From The Properties of Dust

By A. F. LittPublished 7 years ago • 2 min read

Fishing Platforms at Sherars Falls - Deschutes River, Oregon - November 30, 2015 - www.aflitt.com

By December,

I have to tell my boys,

the fish are gone.

Under the pioneer bridge,

the falls still fall

but the native platforms

hang from once burning rock

over churning water

empty.

It is cold now

and the wind whips

mist from the falls

so hard

it slaps my face red

As I try to explain

the old ways,

Where nets and seasons

and hearts and fish

meant life, dripping

from the end of a

long pole...

but the leaves turned

and fell too long ago.

I show the set-up

to my boys

before they play

hide and seek

Behind the interpretive sign

and the Sani-can

standing watch

over the parking lot.

The highway is quiet,

posing no threat,

so I turn my face

into the slashing wind

I taste wet

drops from the river

on my lips, and I try

to remember

the taste of salmon.

I feel a tug, I see

a small, young face

wanting to go

back to Daddy’s house;

it is too cold here.

Climbing into the car,

buckling in for safety,

turning on the heat,

turning on the wipers,

clearing the mist...

none of us remember

the taste of salmon.

The Properties of Dust

At Sherars Falls... Deschutes River, Oregon - December 2004 - www.aflitt.com

The Properties of Dust was a small book I put together in 2005 for a desktop publishing class at Portland State University. Many of these pieces were written specifically for the book project, and the rest date back to as early as 1990. The pieces were accompanied by a photo or two in the original book, but, in most cases, I am using different, more recent, photos with this series of posts.

The Properties of Dust

Watching a Woman From Across the Room

Moonrise