What the river told me
She scares herself every day, she says.
Every morning she wears a different face.
Sometimes she is a monster,
wild and dangerous.
She takes lives
and destroys crops.
Sometimes she is a thin silver snake,
too weak to be feared.
And then there are days when she is a ghost,
an empty bed,
dry.
And on some days, when things are too much,
she sinks inward and disappears.
She hides inside her underground cave
with open domes and draughty corridors.
Her walls there are constantly eroded.
That’s what happens when you build your place
out of mud and anger.
GloPoWriMo Day 16
No comments:
Post a Comment