Lean in: hear the raw singingA Poem by Eilis
Can the river be faulted. It is just
doing its thing and you step in. If you didn’t see the rapids running, (they are not horses so don’t even say it, say the bare thing: rapids) if you don’t see the rapids coming to snatch the roots from under your ankles, you aren’t really watching, are you. Or maybe you are, but that blue thing that has always been dormant in your eyes sees its source & can’t arrest the urge to wade among it. To absorb the prickly sentience of roaring water. To understand that four letter word you’ve so often seen written but never quite understood. Life. Is a series of waterways and sheers. A long medieval road that might have once been a river. Everyone is vulnerable to the water’s leanings, right. To the sudden onrush inherent with heavy rain. Some just have roots that thrive on being pulled among pools where breath is not free. You should know this and be ready to drown if you choose to follow. Vulnerability is a murder of crows. From a distance a stranger hears bird calls break the steady silence of a predawn atmosphere. The birds within you caw at separate heights & expose your presence among red leaves and stones. Calling the waiting hunter to grab each bird by the neck & snuff the anthem. Inhume the dark clamber in native dirt. Where it can at once be displaced by the coming law and force of the river © 2020 EilisAuthor's Note
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13 Reviews Added on December 17, 2019 Last Updated on November 10, 2020 Author
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