This River

by Lindsay Smail

This river knows every part of me
enfolds me in its waving world
supports me as it tugs
insistent, urging.

Even up here
in the cabin
in a chair
by the stove
enclosed in four sunlit walls
I can feel its pull.

This river flows incessantly
polishing me
(today, tomorrow, yesterday)
tearing away some hard husk
(last year, next)
rushing over and past me.

I look up its destination on a map
and am none the wiser.

Sitting here
in a chair
by a blue rug
on golden floors
listening, re-membering its embrace
damp hair chilling my scalp
I know more than any cartographer.

— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1