Unwanted, I imagine, hidden, invisible transparency, narrow as a ribbon. I flow, fast or slow, it doesn’t matter, no-one will notice. I make it over stones and round corners just because, well, it is either that or turn back on myself and sit pooled in the shadows. So on I go, the pain of inadequacy coiled in a core of current, wrapped round a vortex of sorrow, a limpid lamentation.
Yet it is only when I join my siblings; the others come from mountain high, thawed waters and collected tears shoved downhill; that we become a river and can own the name of our togetherness.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015