Leavetaking

crying. The boy opened his eyes, moaned, then shivered. She held him, tried to warm him with his own chilled body. The strong smell of dead fish and mud was on them both. "Momma, it's cold," James said. William took a bottle from his pocket and gave James a drink ofrum, then held it to Elizabeth's lips. The rich liquid—not like butterscotch at all, but like fire—burned away the bitter taste of canal water, scorching her throat and stomach until she felt heated within. He cupped her face in his warm hands. "You did a wondrous thing, my brave girl. Now, you must get by the fire, quick." He took James from her and carried him uphill in the cold rain, his bad leg bowing out. They would make it, she, her husband and son. She felt their good fortune and God's mercy like the fire inside her. She lifted her chin and followed William uphill to their lockhouse, to the warmth and protection waiting for her there. Leavetaking This is the heavy pack I cannot swing off my stiff shoulders; this the slope that hems my breath up short across the level kitchen where we greet with twelve years' ease. Boulders between us; scree slipping unseen. Gentle as twilight, your dear face gleams at my welcome— a labored dreamspeech, when my body knows itself elsewhere awake. This is the switchback trail, a cut snake, out of the valley where I safely loved you only; homestead dwindling, more indistinct with each day's turning; though at the edge I lean outward, and clutch, and stare— praying to catch you clear, up close again in the cold, thin, intoxicating air. —Kristin Camitta Zimet 33 ...