Arroyo Lessons
I write letters to my father, the riverbed, when I need answers that mother can’t give. Father empty stream, father arroyo, who houses the rattlesnake beneath his wind-smoothed stones. Father imminent danger, the flash flood, the whipping monsoon mud froth, father aftermath in ribbons of ruined earth. The arroyo spreads his tiger moth wings and paints his back in dark, tide-pulled streaks of metallic silt.