4 October 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 3

Etiquettes

by ELIZABETH HUGHEY

The tickets are for entering a new unimportance that insists it is all

made of glass, smooth enough to be skied upon, connecting

above water to below. You are connected to the Midwest

because your river is connected, but you are made up of non-river

elements, too. You can see how the water is also the skier

and the mother of the skier, who was born in Omaha,

and without Omaha, we wouldn't have the mother,

and without goldenrod, we wouldn't have the mother,

and without the sun, goldenrod. So you see the sun in the water,

but sun already plays a role in tidal water. What is not river,

anyway. Sometimes a river is said to be larger than a creek,

but this is not always true. Some rivers flow as several

interconnecting streams of water, a braided river.

Occasional interstate blackouts in the Northeast illuminate.

When a single line fails and we all fail, the result is

a new wakefulness that is very old, starting with sounds, birds,

hush of the road, and the people on the road,

and how those who woke before help us to wake.