NaPoWriMo Day 3...The Kayaker in the Water

The Kayaker in the Water

Ice shelves crust the shoulders of the river,

its current falls onto the rocks below.

Minutes swirl like wine in a glass

It breathes and relaxes, rich and yeasty.

A tree bends down to the river

Its leaves dip and drag in the smooth eddy.

Earth smells of hay and fresh cow dung

And of snow melt and growing roots.

A woman cannot move and cannot see,

The river guides her like the hands of her mother.

Rapids only tip you if you let them;

Rocks are only hard if you hit them.

Ferns just begin to unfurl from their fists

And reach out to touch the river shore.

Her eyes are shut and that is where rain collects,

Her friends gather her neck into a makeshift brace.

Leaves fall red and yellow and drift like letters

to be delivered wherever the river will take them.

Her paddle lost in rapids, her boat floundered;

she is the precious cargo, nothing else matters.

Even when glassy smooth, the river has sound;

But over roar of the grand falls, she hears her beating heart.