The Mississippi River -
long, with lots of twists and turns.
Here in New Orleans, she is on her last leg of the journey.
Does she have regrets that she carries along like sludge -
the faster the current, the slower it takes
for the mud to settle and be left behind.
What about sorrows deeply held
and weighing down the water flow?
She's quiet, this river,
but she has stories to tell, treasures of wisdom.
The bushes, wild flowers, and grasses
crowd down to the bank to listen
and be watered from her wealth.
The birds and gulls hover and swoop down close
to be nourished for their own journey.
The river waits for them to come to her -
-for them to ask.
She waits silently.
Waiting, but moving, slowly and deliberately along . . .
You are the river.
I am the river.
