Wild & Free. {Poetry}


Oh, 102 degrees,

I remember you,
we’d pile in the rust red Ford Maverick
windows wide open
wind rolling through
our hair

we took the curves to the river,

wild and free,
or so we thought it would be
to the place
under the bridge,
we’d follow the path
down the rocky hill

on a dusty trail once made by deer,
or bears, a mountain lion or two

as they walked to the river,
cool waters in which I’d jump


blend into the current,

until I found the spot
in the middle of the river
where I could place my feet
upon an underwater rock,
like coral,
rough edges of granite smoothed by centuries of water,
currents flowing,
feeling weightless
in the river,

reclining on that rock
on those days
back when I knew 102 degrees
without the comforts of air conditioning,
& the cool waters of the river
became my summer home.

copyright 2016 © Jessie Wright



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