I will come as I am to this river. Though there is no soap, I am a dirty child with tangled black hair, and the sheep are trying to lick me clean. My name is Leafy Sitar, and I am four. I am exiled from my father’s wishing-boat, where he sailed, looking for dream-fish, chunks of the moon, and living waters. The skies are everywhere. I don’t care that I am a shoeless lost child and the signs say I am lost. My father’s boat tipped like an obese donkey into the sea somehow. He drowned. Help me if you can!

The sky is raging, and my sisters, Sunny and Betty, have deserted me to go worship cactuses. My Daddy rocked my leafy soul on the glassy, smooth ocean waves. When I was floating, the sea was as flat as calm Listerine. It smelled sweet, like dreams and violets. I am now a tired child, holding a burnt-out candle and I am dry, I am lost, I am alone from my father. I am full alone. My father once took me to Jamaica to meet my mother. She was lovely, but that was just a picture pasted over her mirror. In reality, she was sticky skin clinging to bones.

My name is Leafy Sitar. I am away from my father, away from his beloved moon, away from his sweet little ocean. We sailed on oceans yet unnamed. Now I am looking for a bird in this river to carry me back to Pappa in its beak. My sails are waving high, and they always will.