Susie Paine - Selected Writings

Thick mud, cool water,

my feet sink in.

Trees above me shade the water,

casting everything faintly green.

The creek flows around me as I try

to take in the happiness flowing through my veins.

I feel elated in a way many rarely do.

Happiness rises inside of me

as light fills a white room.

The creek moves around my legs, breaking the flow

of this famous, famous water.

I finally made it, saw all the places my hero lived.

 

It only took eight years.

 

A crawfish moves on the rocks in front of me.

I just watch, let it eat.

I see fish swimming downstream,

playing in the cool water

like kindergarteners play on too big play structures

without mothers watching.

Butterflies flutter over the wildflower fields behind Mom

as she points the lime green phone at the four of us, lined up like ducklings.

Of course she wants to take a picture, and tell Facebook,

“We did it! We saw them all!”

I don’t want pictures of me, or of anything.

 

These memories are for me.

 

This will live on better in my mind than on a page.

We climb out of the creek, leaving wet footprints on the rock.

Soon they will dry, but for now, the rock marks that I was there,

even just for a second. Soon the footprints will fade,

and all that will mark my time here is my memory,

always there for me to relive.