PetalumaRiverIris_Brindella_2017-b

where you end (and I begin)

It’s days like this I feel my age
my troubled youth
my wisest sage
scratching down each day like the world was my cell
dragging around in my hallowed shell
stitched with shame like Hester Prynn
where you end
and I begin

The river is full with dark debris
forcing strong to southern seas
dislodging sediments and sentiments
pulsing silt and exhausted sludge
 to cleanse these ravaged shores
a single yellow iris pushes up from that rotting pillar, after so much rain
a burst of growth after near death drowning
white wings skim the surface in playful grace
slipping over glossy surface space
at this late hour
under this pink and violet sky
where you end and I…

Across on opposite banks I regress
a younger self in a summer dress
on bales of hay, hopeful, churning hearts
anxious for the homeward drive
alive, alive, alive
Alive!
and who’s to say that was a sin?
to forget where you end
and I begin.

But I have been here before
the same cold bench, these same strange banks
ripped jeans, forced thanks
having given what I won’t get back
adding colors to you till they all turn to black
waiting for summer, the edge of spring
that voice i knew, it used to sing
where you end
and I begin

Poem & Photo By Brindella (c) 2017
Petaluma River, CA

PetalumaRiverIris_Brindella_2017