Today Yesterday

A group of kids from Potlatch asked permission before using the community lawn in front of our cabin on Lake Coeur d’Alene. Bud Light fueled laughs - loud last night till late, but it lulled me to sleep under the stars. Perseid meteors showered me with permanence as they raced across a black sky with the soundtrack of lapping waves.

The green jeep next door has a dent in the side, got bought for a song. Sits parked under a canopy of cottonwoods that sprouted up from roof runoff of a longhouse.

Lots of the locals around here say we was instead of the grammatically correct we were.

Old Glory flies from our cabin, stirs feelings of bygone days and reminds me of the coming election and how most of these folks vote. The moon reflects on the lake behind it to remind me that much will remain the same, no matter the outcome.

Justin is 27, worked in a mine in Nevada for a while. Now he’s an appraiser in a small town and it took him a while to figure out that he might be a little unpopular for raising people’s taxes.

Jet skis, boats and beers. Had to think about it before jumping in today, water’s maybe 62. All day I've been the scribe, writing a poem an hour and taking it all in.

This is the America I don't see in the Bellingham bubble that I didn't know was about to burst.

But I understand this life a lot more because we was locals here once.