Scrapes

Paterson, NY
The leaves here have stood the test of wind and rain. The trees still have meat on their bones. Just after a haunted house, that doubles as a ski resort when the snows come, I break into the woods. Ten, maybe twenty feet in, and I disappear. Now only the sound remains from the road. The tent is thrown up quickly. It is already late. From the hill above I hear the screams, and moaning from the haunted house that will stay with me for half of the night. Coffins open and close with heavy banging. People scream at the special effects. I am beginning to think that I could have walked for a few more miles.
The young trees beside my tent have several sides rubbed free of their birch bark by young buck trying to remove velvet from their racks, contribute their scent, and train with a gentle partner. It will be even a louder night if the deer come into camp to scrape tonight.

I look around. This is home now. I do have things stored to include a one room log cabin, and my'48 Airstream, truck, and 250cc on/off road motorcycle, but as far as location goes, I am these leaves falling to the earth. The wind will take me. The postcards that I have sent all said nothing. What could I say? I am on the moon, and all the earth is so far away. One day I will return, and they will open their mouths to know what I have seen, where have I slept? It is all so ludicris. Postcards? I am sending rocks from the moon as if it can ever explain this damp earth now against my chest, the cop that is fifteen feet away signing speeding tickets while his red light pummel the sides of my tent over and over. I am brave. I am brave, I tell myself as I smell the fresh musk of deer and soil against my face. I am a brillant fool, I counter. I will get get snuffed like a candle if I am not careful. 'Sweat more in training, bleed less in war.' What is this I wonder? Is this peace? I will see my friends in years and they will open their mouths with fat questions they'll think that I'll be able to answer in a spoon full of words.
"Didn't you get the rock I sent," I will ask.

The notes are more like proof of life. I send out trail markers, clues that I passed this way. My mind leaves this cop, this tent that I cannot unzip to enter because of sound. In my thoughts I rise frow this silly distraction, and I visit all those that I have left undone, the separate puzzels that I have started to assemble in and out of my days. Their lives will flow on. I am sure of this. To rise one day and leave all that is common, all that I know, as I lundge into uncertainty is at times too much like death to finger. There is always the saying of good-byes to those loved, but there is also the setting down of a favorite cup and cedar flute. I make my bed in the Airstream. I consider if I will ever place my weight here again. From my friends I gather hugs and kisses, but it is all wine and rich food. In a week I will be famished. In a week I will be curious if I have ever been under a woman, or held something so sweet as a mouth to mine.
With certain vainity, I wonder if they will pick me up into their mind, and study words said, or the joke only I laughed at. Where would my mind wander to if it was me that was left on the dock?

It is 1982. I have just graduated Housatonic Valley Regional H.S., met my father for the first time, fell in love, and joined the army. Alone in my grandmother's house, where I was living until I shipped out, I sat on her couch as all about me melted. I adored my grandmother Carol Jesse. My grandmother was the first person to adore me. The powerful knowledge that my life was going to start bucking, and never again be the same tore open my chest, breaking ribs free fom my breast bone to expose all the tender workings inside.I began to sob as I never had before. This reaction was not to alter a course. I was understanding this crossing of open ground. All at once I knew nothing would ever be the same. On that very couch, which my grandmother never sat on, my grandmother reclined while eating a handful of green grapes, and then left us all to start her final journey. It was just a month before I got out of the army.