Moscow, ID-Spokane, WA

The marijuana is so potent here it makes whole rooms smell like sweet ale.

Sleeping on fireside sofa in Palouse farm house of my friends, I dreamt that back in Maine Navajo hands tattooed a key on my chest. I awoke to my old cat Allen meowing, and let him out into the quiet blue night of low elated stars. I awoke again to baby Max, now 16 months, standing next to me, looking into my face in the gray dawn light. And I smiled at perfect dreams.

Behind the wheel of my aunt’s Subaru on downtown street with my father at night, I say let’s sit and finish the song. It’s Leonard Cohen on Thin Air Community Radio: “La da da la da da la da da da da da da da da da”…louder and louder, shouting it
My father says you’ve taken me to the bad part of town. No, just the bad town, dad. The bad part trying to pull us to sunken streets and the guts of buildings while the music on the radio lifted us to the low elated stars.

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