the Deadman and Bonaparte, Upper Hat Creek,
Coldwater, and the Kispiox where my children waded on a hot day in July, the Leech and Jordan, the Nitinat and Koksilah, the Oyster and Nimpkish, the Po (a rock, with an inscription, “Qui nasce il Po”, near Pian del Re, then the long journey to its fossil delta) and Arno (where I stood on another bridge and wished I could afford soft gloves) and the sweet Hoh, Queets, and Ozette where I camped as a young woman, the Snake, the Escalante and Kanab, the Lost and the Warm, and the Coeur d’Alene,
the Kern, the Mad, Klamath, and Rowdy Creek,
the Sooke, the Elk,
and the one I walk to season after season, near my home, where coho salmon swim in by starlight
and mergansers wait to feed on their eggs.
Note: this is an extract from “How Rivers Break Away and Meet Again”, included in Blue Portugal and Other Essays, available from any bookseller.
...Theresa Kishkan 