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