I did a thing that I have not done before (except in grade school, when I was forced to by the curriculum). I wrote a poem. At least I think it’s a poem. It doesn’t rhyme (does it have to?). I didn’t mean to write a poem. It just happened. I couldn’t think of anything to write about and this is what eventually poured out (well, not exactly this version, but a much worse draft). After several editing rounds, here is the end result. It feels really uncomfortable sharing it with you. But in the spirit of embracing artistry, including stuff I am not ready to share, I’m sharing it anyway.
Love, Erika
I Am a River
I am a river. A river of thoughts. Each thought is like debris flowing down the current. Leaves, logs, sticks.
I am a river. A constant flowing of water. In some places I am turbulent, and in some places, the valley widens and I flow smoothly. The wider my valley the smoother I flow.
I am a river that doesn’t have a planned path. I am a river that has a worn path. Sometimes I have to change course over time, going around obstacles that won’t budge.
I am a river whose contents eventually empty into the vast blue ocean of infinite space. I cannot stop the flow of the river. Never. And, I cannot stop the debris that falls into my current.
I am a river of debris and water. The debris does not define my course. Most of the time it just floats by and is gone, never to be seen again. Some of the debris gathers into logjams. When this happens, I forget that I am the river, and think I am the log jam. The log jam eventually breaks up and I remember. I am a river.
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