miss low slung

I didn’t learn how 

to take my body out in 

the sun until I left Minnesota

So I don’t associate that 

land with my stomach turned 

out towards the sun

It has taken many years to 

consider what it might mean to 

see the low slung sky and the 

heavy trees and the orange lilies as 

indicators of sensuality and the 

adult freedom feeling of choosing exposure

The humidity and the 

way grey starts at the horizon and hazes 

upwards to blue and how it feels when 

it’s going to rain - full to bursting, sure scented

After it does rain a thorough and 

unapologetic rush from the sky

the lightness and the smell  

after a heavy cry

And the river 

I didn’t remember it because 

you can’t swim it, it’s just for witnessing and 

for being adjacent to but those 

practices are holier than I realized

Being next to that huge vein that 

threads through the continent

Seeing and crossing its beginning

learning its lore in school

canoeing different lengths of it

I know the gravity of my 

infrequent visits like 

a betrayal and a loss