Eden Falls in Mid-March, and: Over Coffee in Cañon City
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Eden Falls in Mid-March, and: Over Coffee in Cañon City

Eden Falls in Mid-March

The streamside boulders are slick and dark, the waterfall gushing from the lacerated rock face as if from a wound

that cannot heal. With careful footing we climb to the cave behind the falls, the light from our headlamps

slicing deep into thick and cavernous blackness. We slither up through the narrow tunnels that vein the rock,

until at last the cave expands into a vast atrium. Water pumps in furiously from some valve in the ceiling,

and we turn off our lights and listen to the deafening sound. The chamber fills and empties. The chamber fills and empties. [End Page 100]

Over Coffee in Cañon City

When I asked you about the low water line through Spikebuck, you reached for the tray

of sugar packets, started mapping out the rapid on the table. This is Taylor’s Rock. (splenda)

This is Standing Wave. (sweet ‘n low) This is Dinosaur. (pure sugar)

This is Spikebuck Rock. (stevia) Now, you said, holding up a rectangle

of grape jelly, this is your raft. You scooted the purple plastic container

along the tabletop, while I studied every 45 degree angle, counted exactly how many

forward twos and left side back ones I would need to dodge Dinosaur and make the left slot.

It looked so simple. Like syllables. Coffee. Catching an eddy. Each day measured

in cubic feet per second. The whole summer laid out before me in squares of sugar on a table. [End Page 101]

Monica Joy Claesson

When not writing poetry, Monica Joy Claesson spends her free time backpacking, climbing, and otherwise enjoying the outdoors. Current and forthcoming publications include journals such as Tampa Review, Ascent, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, fields, New Bile, and Alalitcom.

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