The River

For anyone needing some support through this collective moment.

you can scream at the river

but it won’t turn around.

it won’t apologize

for flooding your house

or drying up when you needed rain.

it just keeps going

past the war zones,

past the lovers who stopped calling,

past the ice caps, the job market,

the miscarriage,

the morning after the biopsy.

it’s not personal.

it’s just water doing what it does.

we think peace is a hammock in the sun

but it’s more like

learning to sit in a burning room

without adding your own flames.

when the towers fell,

some people folded.

others lit candles in their chests

and walked forward anyway.

when the virus came,

we hoarded toilet paper

as if we could wipe away

our terror of the unknown.

but even then,

the trees kept blooming

without asking

if it was a good time.

your mother dies.

the stock crashes.

your name gets dragged through the mud

You become a stranger in rooms that once felt like home.

and you

can either clench your jaw

until your teeth crack

or you can feel the weight of the moment

without fighting it.

that’s not giving up.

that’s grace with scars.

the monk sweeping leaves

knows they’ll fall again tomorrow.

but he sweeps anyway.

because he’s not doing it

to win.

there’s peace in taking the next step

without making war

with the moment

the river is always moving.

and fighting it

just gets you tired

and wet.

but if you just stop thrashing

you’ll see the sky

reflected in the water

it will cradle you

and the current

will carry you home.