(elegy for a recurring dream; early morning, 4-4-2017)
for the first time,
i don’t want to go anywhere.
i want to stand Here and let
the rushing water flow on its own,
past my toes, over my chilled skin;
let it pull my hair forward over my face,
blind me and pass me by
instead of carrying me along.
the push of the current is still against my back,
but my feet are rooted to the rock.
the water parts, divides, goes around;
it acknowledges me with a wink and smile,
yet nods and leaves me unbothered.
i have lost its interest,
and it surely has places to be.
it’s cold here.
the aliveness is palpable;
it’s also the warmest i’ve ever felt.
i don’t know whether it’s a mistake or a daydream.
i don’t know if it’s meant.
but i know, Here,
i have found some semblance of peace,
and that when you find that in this world,
you don’t travel on,
neither in search of whiter waters
nor easy currents to ride without risk.
this sensation is new,
and it’s terrifying
to be so still.
all i know how to do is run,
wind and waves behind me,
pushing me on.
i do not quiet.
i do not trust.
do not wait.
oh, but now.
standing in the flow
yet being not of it
is both the most difficult
and the easiest thing
i have ever come to do.
and right Here it is,
i will stand,
where my toes meet the rock
and the warmth and cold wax and wane;
finding me oddly content,
my longtime river leaves
no longer needed
to bear the weight
of my clearly finished travels.
© Tracy Lucas, 2017