A River Is Waiting

A river can be wide and deep. So true, but all rivers have a starting point. Outside the lines, a mumbled counting of the ripples. Four? They say we are the diminishing returns of water. Just becoming narrow, tapered, sharp, the end of a tool, end of the line, end of one particular direction across from the bridge, just standing on the other side. My shoes are soaked.

Some rivers can be thousands of miles long. Some rivers are songs. A song is calling you. Slowly. Your phone keeps ringing. A feeling of having already experienced the present situation. A feeling of having already experienced everything. A feeling. A sound. A ringing. A river. Moments before. They keep pulling your name against the rope of the sunken bell tower. Just because? And only slightly distracted by a turtle on a log.

Still, somebody wants to talk to you. You think?

You think between the ringing, the splashing, the ringing, the streaming, a creek, a brook, something to dream on.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Splash. Ring. Ring. Ring. Again. However, rivers must carry and distribute very important salts and nutrients to support plant and animal life.

You know this. Go. Walk to where the water begins its flow.

The end of a river is called its mouth. This is a place for speaking things. Sometimes eating. You must look up. Greet the sky. Are you shallow enough of a person to wade across? I hope so. The other end of the river is calling out your name.

A flowing body learns to dance. The source of some things too. Sometimes dreaming learns to stand, but mostly water.

Ribbons like to fish and dance. Wiggling your toes to attract skipping. Out from rainfall, snowmelt, mountains.

Out from the bubbles that come from the ground. A river is waiting.

Elan Radousky lives in California. When he isn’t reading, writing, eating, sleeping, or playing the xylophone, he can sometimes be found outside attempting to finally master five club juggling. He doesn’t actually play the xylophone, but he has on occasion dabbled at playing the xaphoon. His favorite color is blue, and he probably doesn’t know any secrets about you.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to A River Is Waiting

  1. L.K. Latham says:

    Love the idea of being a river.

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