THE BUILDING OF THE MEMORIAL CAIRN

 

THE BUILDING OF THE MEMORIAL CAIRN

That day in January on 12 West

just before Trout Lodge, the accident--

patrol car, ambulance, backed up cars,

me too, wondering, skis packed--

I’m reading a Canyonlands

poem when the siren releases us--

I’ll take the upturned car

to High Camp knowing

nothing, and only the next day

read the news. 14 year old boy

from down the road. passenger

unhurt, released. Two months later

to the day, crossing back on 12 East

with my wife, I’m the passenger

in back when we drive by,

fresh memorial flowers flashing

by my eyes driving by.

I was there, moments later.

And that same day he died,

the random murder in town,

three people at a convenient store.

I don’t connect the two in time,

until driving up the mountain

in March, I turn around

to remember him, that boy

from Naches, just this side

of Trout Lodge. I force myself

to go back, pull over,

hang my coat on the right mirror,

isn’t this my vow, to pause

and see--back-crossing

the highway. Lilac colored

cloth flowers below satin-white roses,

and the long black comb,

forgotten or placed?

to the right of the flowers.

What I hadn’t seen

until crossing the highway,

running creek in the steep ravine,

running water, living desert

snow-melt and Biblical.

Random murder in town never fits.

But that boy, and me, walking the ditch.

Falling between silk flowers

and a water-song, cutting

my hand. Here, too,

the unrelated random truths,

the abuse always takes place

where things are supposed to be safe.

The violence, cruel and delivered

without warning, taking many forms.

I did remember the day this boy

died, and I turn back in my notebook

to January 20^th. Skiers on the way

up the mountain drive by without

slowing down. They’re in a hurry

for anything untracked. This boy

wasn’t a skier. I search nearby stones

for three to build a cairn

in the stone garden at home,

two small, undistinguished,

one larger, size of a soccer ball.

Resuming this mountain drive, forgetting

my coat hanging on the mirror.

Jim Bodeen

20 January—26 March 2023

Highway 12

White Pass Scenic Byway