From the archives – 6 a.m., North Shore — Jen McClung

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6 a.m., North Shore

gave my sadness
to the river this morning

before all the traffic began
before all the people went
walking with their dogs
before the sun was
high enough to be bright,

sat at the edge
of something bigger than
this sorrow and watched
the way the water carried
tiny sticks and tree trunks,
maybe away
from where they were rooted

before the city began
on its hushed trajectory,
opened my hands
and poured what I had
into the passing current

poured out
blood red heart stuff —
bitter endings
a freshly dead wish

poured the most
beautifully bruised
shade of grief
my hands could hold

poured every last bit
into the big, slow waters
and begged the river,
color of decayed leaves
and forest floor,
to carry these things, too,
maybe away
from where I am rooted.

from Autumn Sky Poetry 14 — by Jen McClung

Twitter: @jenmcclungmusic

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim