Leaving Miracle Hot Springs

(May 2022. I leapt. It rocked.)

Oh, how home is most home
The day of parting.

Already I have stayed how many extra days,
Only making the roots more painful to rip,
But how glad I am to tear
What is so well grown.

It is the day of one last things,
One last soak in my favorite pool,
One last sit on the shady rock,
One last leap into the river.

And yet how first things tease me,
The first time seeing the tree like a witch’s hand
Whose branches thick as trunks curl back to earth,
Whose leaves kiss the green river.
The first time noticing that the black bird
With white wingspots has a red hat.

Now, with leaving imminent, these novelties
Tempt me to stay, promising that this
Home will continue to surprise me,
Will continue to attach me with
The lure of objects perceived.

Yet granite rocks cannot match the river,
Cannot outlast the vicious lavings of change.
I must flow to new homes.

Today I will ignore safety and send
My school bus up the winding narrow
Mountain backroads of the Sierras.
I hope my creaky steering holds,
Or I may die.

I cannot wait to see the unknown.

One last first thing before I go—
This rock is high over the Kern River.
Despite the many boulders near shore,
It looks like I could leap into the safe green water
If I leap far enough.
I cannot see any rocks there.
I could test the spot first somehow
To avoid injury, but I’d be swept downriver.

No, I think I will leap first, and last.