Where Shall We Ramble?
River, where do you ramble?
In deep woods we meet
Inside a secret
That floats softly
From my tongue
Into your current
When I was a child
I plunged to your depths
And mingled with the watery spirits there
I rolled frantically like a pinwheel
Seeking purchase
Until invisible hands
Planted my feet in your muddied bed
I rose like a crooked cannon
Doubled over and ready to launch the remains of my burning breath
In violent exchange for a greedy gasp of the remains of my days
Which have led me here
Banking on your shoulder
Coming up short for time
Leaning in for invisible hands
And finding none
Here, I am the sacred one
I am become my own saviour
So pray you, River
Where shall we ramble?
© H. Hennenburg, 18 August 2019
Copyright protected by Digiprove © 2020 H. Hennenburg
Very beautiful, Heather!
I like the part where the secret floats into the current.
This has something of a baptismal feel to it. People sometimes forget that to be born anew requires an acknowledgement of death. The sense of reverence for the river, even though it was so nearly the cause of the speaker’s demise is striking. It’s an honest sort of recognition of nature’s beauty and peril.
This is my second reading of this piece, and the same line “I am become my own savior” jumped at me–that is such a wonderful thought. Also, I love the idea of going back to our beginnings and sharing the journey to our now.
So much comfort and peace found in your piece, H. I feel the speaker need not ask, “Where shall we ramble?” as the answer (for me) is vivid “I am become my own saviour.”
Most powerful!