By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

WHAT are you to me? I have no answers for you.  You are sometimes my joy, my inspiration, my anchor, my pain. Sometimes you are the wind, the air I breathe. You are  the undefined principle, maybe even, my core.

 

THE FLOW OF THE RIVERS

I don’t know what you are
to me
I don’t have labels for
this thing
It’s there, and it’s not there
fluid, present
absent
I haven’t seen you
for years
but felt you
in the caress of the sun
on my back
climbing up a steep hill
catching up with me, mocking
as I catch my breath

some have definite labels
for you and me
but never defined the fleeting
the infinite, the gentle flow
of our rivers
not at all in a rush
to become one
with the sea
or one, with each other

we explore corners
crevices along the river beds
dipping in its shallow waters
not even expecting clarity
no, never
we thrive in the stillness
we swim in the chaos
we’re home
wherever we are
together
or alone

there’s a chance we flow
into the same estuary
where the freshwater meets
with sea salt
where we cannot drink
each other
but able to cool the aquifers
be the sanctuary for the salmon
the eel, the flounder, the striped bass
and stay awhile, or maybe longer
learn from the tolerance
of sedges and grass
how they stand
and withstand
the slow, the turbulent
ebbs of attachment

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