Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Metaphor


The river...
how did I not know,
not know... 
not to fight against it,
the current,
the density of me,
the weight,
the lack of control,
born in the kid days,
of summer...
not wanting 
to know how
to float, 
to flow, 
to go with the ride... 
instead of direct it,
to breathe...
instead of gasp,
to inflate...
instead of deflate,
to float... 
instead of fight.

To find this peace,
in the hushed rush 
of mute water,
the quieting
that released me,
let me be...
ten again,
with this
step off the edge,
off the edge, 
of control...
to discover
the only way to fly
is called 
swimming.


1 comment:

Kate said...

This poem says it all, Pam! It's exactly the way I feel.
Swimming is my freeness, my flying, my Zen meditation. You couldn't have said it better. Kate