Double Rainbow

by Frances Klein

Stevo/Unsplash

At five I hid in the back lot among cedars brushing fanned branches against the top of the water, rivulets trickling through rocks and rushes, moss offering a cushioned seat on which I would live my whole life, I thought then, there among fireweed and forget-me-not, among slug trail and raven call, under the low dome of clouds, I would survive on the salmonberries that swam along the bank, orange and magenta explosions, on the sour stalks of rhubarb, drink rainwater caught in cupped leaves, until dusk and my father called to me in harmony, breaking the spell. Now when I look for you, small one, I can walk to that creek, past the army of stout rhododendron, the ancient maple, the pussy willows weeping spring, when I spy you behind the sheltering rocks and swaddling moss, I see the whole history of our lineage arcing between us and know you for my true descendant: creek boy, berry boy, cedar boy, sun sparking off the water, rainbows of double vision blurring the line between years.

---

Frances Klein (she/her) is an Alaskan poet and teacher. Klein is the author of (Text) Messages from The Angel Gabriel (Gnashing Teeth Press, 2024). Her full length collection Another Life is forthcoming in 2025. Klein’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Best Microfiction, The Harvard Advocate, HAD, and others.