[lit-ideas] Sunday Poem: The Anguish of Driftwood
- From: "Lawrence Helm" <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 5 Mar 2006 04:31:08 -0800
77-001
The Anguish of Driftwood
We were like driftwood
Cast up on the river bank
And lay in our own decay,
Moldering as the sun came up
And day shone upon us.
It's all the same to a piece of wood,
Whether to be carried further up
Or drift back down. We set our packs
Against a rock and let the sight
Of pure crystalline water flow through us
Once again. There was a crossing
Too great for us without our
Taking things apart and going in stages;
So we sat, letting the warm morning
Fill us and the river cool our feet.
We began to go downstream.
Salmon people past us, going up,
Looking to us for guidance:
Would there be a bridge?
Was the journey far?
Would there be a place of rest
With shadowy pines?
Oh, did the trail go up and up
Forever? We did all we could
But it wasn't enough.
Their misery flowed into us,
And we curled like parched bark
On the river bank,
No longer watching them pass,
No longer looking . . .
"It was only that you
Didn't seem to care," she cried at last.
"I didn't know," I faltered, ashamed.
We waded across and I held her
'Till she felt me caring once again.
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