News From Native California Volume 31, Issue 3 - Page 11

By Tyler Peyron Water Song Through deepest blues you are fluid within weightlessness. Waves break the face of surface and rip-tide-take. Ocean curl, rhythmic, her push and pull a metronome. Over and over those quintillion gallons lift. Wait for hums in melodic percussion, drum upon the crust of earth’s molten abdomen with your water song. We speak of thumbed beings with their tools of harvest, carving hearts from chests hollow. Bone marrow, blood, in waters known to color the darkest blue on earth to purples. How easy it is for us to drown in that red-fading current turn. Where we forget the world. Where we forget the being. As spears wash blue from water and hollowed skins call the ocean floor the body and bone. The others can hear this place in tones, rain drones over waves and drowns falling whale breath. The hull of man, can’t feel the break. Boasting chests flex breath for the kill and pull one more still body full of heart, lung, and five-finger bone structures of man, of mammals. My father told us of hymns that came from dreams, singing through baleen. Miles of stream, from the Sierra Nevada through snow, redwood, oak, pine, willow, sand, granite stone, grass lands, and sea. The creeks that carried those whale bones home from their mountain rest left us water-songs. SPR IN G 2 018 ▼ 9