Father And His Horses In The Far Mountains Poem by RIC BASTASA

my memory of father
was those weeks riding
horses in that far
mountain, where he
put some natives and
a house and built his
place of friendship
there, and i was then
a child, missing mama
in the city, thriving
on berries, and wild pork
and deer meat, and
rice.

what i could not forget
most is the bath in the
river where father would
go naked, with another
girl.

mama had no plans going
there, which is too far
and too high for her
survival.

father loved the mountains
most, the forest, and the
natives, and i guess,
also that girl.

perhaps i was that young
not to understand enough.
who was right and what
went wrong