The first signal is my head turned
sideways, listening for him
my dad too, listens to me,
he warns me of shit.
This was literal: he identified each
congealed hazard on the trail.
"Look out for the dog shit,"
he said. "OK--horse shit."
Or sometimes even: "I don't know,
kanna--some kind of shit here."
Huge oceans connect us now;
my finger tenses on redial.
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Red Cedar River, this morning with L.
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