Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Sunday Daydream

I am watching my thoughts
bounce
like
popcorn
from one subject
to another.
Outside the birds chirp and cackle
and call and I find
I am
floating down a river
in Africa.
My tour guide,
a white haired man
in his seventies,
lost his sight eight years ago.
He paddles the river by feel.
His hands are as gnarled as the walking stick
he carries on shore.
His skin is wrinkled from the sun
and his legs are thin as bamboo.
We float down the river.
I am covered in coconut oil and bug spray.
Every so often,
I dip my hand into the chocolate colored water.
It feels cool against my sunburned skin.
Crocodiles slither in to the river
as they hear us approach.
My guide
smiles and sings to himself
as if to let me know all is well.
We will not be their dinner.
And so we float,
deep,
deep
into the jungle
where the insects are as big as parrots.
Here there are no cell phones,
or telephones,
or computers,
only the sound
of the wild
lulling me to sleep.