Upper Mississippi

As the train crosses over,
it stuns me again to be living

so close to the northern end
of this multithreaded river.

Entrenched beneath bluffs,
it’s just waiting

to have its hidden whitewater
rapids restored.

I would give away
every page of misguided poetry

I’ve written
to be so dignified.

To know exactly when
to make an exit.

Then it hits me—
a paddleboat slamming

against a dock. I tally
up all the moves

and miles logged
in rows of unlocked journals

and see
I’m the one

who has done the leaving.
Ghosted myself

as I seek
another body
of/or water
to inhabit.

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