shades of green
Lillian Aff
the river mouth in Jenner
is shimmering like a youthful steelhead
yanked from the water on a fishing line
and I am following the river down
highway 1 through the cradle of Kashia
tenderly I travel past the biʔda šinati
unknowingly I grasp at the views of the coastline
acting like I know the names of the unnamable
acting like invasive species, the untamable
where did I end up – Pomo territory
continuing the tearful trail of my lineage
from the southeast to the northwest
while my lolo pans for gold in Marysville
I come back to tell them I’m gone
as if they didn’t know that
as if I didn’t know my own head
as if Aunt Judy isn’t already dead
and the jade dragon doesn’t get dustier
as if I never noticed the way I rush myself
from the farthest end to the treehouse
ridden with wasp nests and tetanus
as if I’m unmoved by the many ways
these shades of green tried to hurt me
we had Judy’s memorial in that house
in Loma Rica where the sprinklers ran
for hours and we lounged in bathing suits
but that day it was cold and my Uncle Wayne
was out of prison for good he said how’s school
he said but he didn’t even know my age and
he chain-smoked until the end and we stayed
the night in the room where I always thought
the aswang were hiding in the wallpaper, ready
to suck out my blood and leave me a husk
losing mom was like eroding on the shore
everybody sees the rocks the same
though they’re incrementally smaller
as they roll over one another in the waves
I’m going to Marysville, I’m going to Oakland
I’m coming back to the coast, I don’t want to
be anywhere else until I’m already there
my ancestors were colonizers and indigenous
with families that swapped and spilled
each other’s blood until I came out screaming
redgreen and hardy like the trees where I grew up
losing love is like being blown apart by
the air that separates our fearful spirits
I can feel the wind blustering behind me
even though she can’t find me
is shimmering like a youthful steelhead
yanked from the water on a fishing line
and I am following the river down
highway 1 through the cradle of Kashia
tenderly I travel past the biʔda šinati
unknowingly I grasp at the views of the coastline
acting like I know the names of the unnamable
acting like invasive species, the untamable
where did I end up – Pomo territory
continuing the tearful trail of my lineage
from the southeast to the northwest
while my lolo pans for gold in Marysville
I come back to tell them I’m gone
as if they didn’t know that
as if I didn’t know my own head
as if Aunt Judy isn’t already dead
and the jade dragon doesn’t get dustier
as if I never noticed the way I rush myself
from the farthest end to the treehouse
ridden with wasp nests and tetanus
as if I’m unmoved by the many ways
these shades of green tried to hurt me
we had Judy’s memorial in that house
in Loma Rica where the sprinklers ran
for hours and we lounged in bathing suits
but that day it was cold and my Uncle Wayne
was out of prison for good he said how’s school
he said but he didn’t even know my age and
he chain-smoked until the end and we stayed
the night in the room where I always thought
the aswang were hiding in the wallpaper, ready
to suck out my blood and leave me a husk
losing mom was like eroding on the shore
everybody sees the rocks the same
though they’re incrementally smaller
as they roll over one another in the waves
I’m going to Marysville, I’m going to Oakland
I’m coming back to the coast, I don’t want to
be anywhere else until I’m already there
my ancestors were colonizers and indigenous
with families that swapped and spilled
each other’s blood until I came out screaming
redgreen and hardy like the trees where I grew up
losing love is like being blown apart by
the air that separates our fearful spirits
I can feel the wind blustering behind me
even though she can’t find me
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Lillian Aff is a poet at Scripps College from Monte Rio, California. They are studying English and creative writing.
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