POETRY

Tiptoe as You Go Into the River

A poem

Tiptoe as you go into the river, feel the pebbles fight back against your soles, feel the cold water telling you, “No, no, no,” feel the wind calling out your name, your real name.

Feel the cold fabric of your clothes cling to your skin, if you make it out of here, you’ll have to peel them off; do you think they would look good on you if they were to be the last disguise you ever wore?

Feel how your mask finally slips away, water washes away what you couldn’t refuse during your days on Earth. Would people judge you if they knew the ideas swirling in the darkness of your mind?

You know they would. You know they do.

Get used to the water now, let your arms float by your side, for a moment there, you are weightless; nothing matters, nothing exists, there’s no time, no place, and you don’t have a body anymore.

Can you feel it now?

And, for your final act of the evening, make your way back to the shore — you feel so heavy and grave; you can still hear the stream calling out for your soul.

Don’t worry, child, one day, you’ll be back home; in the meantime, please, bring me a pebble I can keep in my pocket — I promise to kiss it every morning and every night, I promise to touch it as I walk by your side.

This, my dear, I swear from the depths of my heart; can you still feel it?

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