A River Ran Through Me,

Into Your Hands

Four years ago this day

a tiny desert community 

by the highway lost a giant 

of a man we were graced 

to have ever known,

holy imperfect, wholly divine,

on our way to the River,

we streamed side by side.

We were neighbors and caretakers, you and I, looking after each other, in our own way, kindred spirits, you given to raucous and repetitive religion rants and tender Kent State memories, over green chile and cheese croissant, wisdom, experience that honed your spirit to try to help us see God in each other, or as you often implored us, “to treat everyone like God in drag,” though know this, Arroyo Dan, wherever good-hearted mountain men go, I always saw you seeing me. I know how to spot a drag queen and God, both; brother, it's always the Adam's apple and the hands that are the giveaway.

Your voice offered us the fruit of First Blessing     and your calloused hands made all of us you held small, like a martini of beloveds in your God-sized drag hand. 

Even when I was in pain, I could believe in the genuine caring in your voice, even when my hands may have trembled, you still wrapped mine in yours for a moment, gave me that look, and a nod that would help glue me and hold me together and    bring me home to center where espresso and empathy were both stocked but rage wasn't.

There were so many days when I was in such pain after our car accident, then neuropathy pain, and doing my best to show up behind the damn counter, both of us avoiding Raging Nancy to the best of our ability but when you showed up and another couple or three, we somehow found or maybe created a place together that was some very real, no-frills “namaste”.

 As Archie & Edith sang, 

“those were the days” and

Arroyo Dan, you are the man, 

of stature and heart and kindness,

a role model for how we can be

when we let our hearts heal. 

A Hanuman pendant, a turtle, 

and the feather the hawk left 

rests on your picture on my altar. 

A devoted heart, an empty shell, 

a feather left in flight remembered 

by candle, incense, prayer and bell.

 -pdk

A River Ran Through Me…

Into Your Hands

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