Child of the Ride

by Joanna Silva

You see the river and are in.
Your eyes skip over the dock, dismiss the boat,
were amused at the raft, but you abstained.
That water’s life – fierce, breathing, beautiful.
It kills, it welcomes, and it is blind.
Unbroken knowing. One moment is plenty.
It is sad, good, it’s too heavy, and funny, all in between
and including the cutting, floating, choking,
the punches and the falls.
You’re not bothered. You’re blessed by what is sandy, where
is slippery, why is scraping, when is stopping, what is peaceful
is not easy, how is what we need to forget.
Everything is wet and you’re grateful.
Face above whitewater is joy, currents
simply do nothing, or bully, implore, enlist.
Serve. Truly. Survive and be gone.
You are in the Water.
Go with friends, go cursing, alone, go crashing,
be clear, be amazed, be bruised,
be firm, flow unsinkingly.
This…
You stop speaking now
everywhere has no words
this is arrived

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