Day Fifteen

Title: gave my sadness to the river

I used to work in a building that was right on the Allegheny River. I would park each morning in a parking lot down the block from where I worked and walk the river path to the building. I loved seeing the river each day. I learned that I could tell what kind of day it would be by how the river was running. Some days it would be smooth and glassy. That day would be easy, flowing. Some days it would be rough and choppy, running too fast or too high. Those would be the tougher days to get through.

There was one morning, shortly after I'd moved to Pittsburgh, when I went into work early just so I could sit by the river a little extra. The night before had been a sad night, one of grief and trying to let go of things I had no business holding on to. The river, that morning, offered me a place to put my grief.

In that moment, this poem was born.

***

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, too,
somewhere,
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 small hands could hold

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