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
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