RIVERBANK

Sometimes I worry about the time
I spend obsessing on journal writing.
I keep thinking there are better things to do.
Sometimes my dream journal remains
the only thread of sanity, or salvation.
Times when I'm overwhelmed by rawness,
but in the journal, I acknowledge them,
and let those feelings flow through me,
they come in and out like the tide,
like an oil spill going down the river—
a momentary patch of calmness,
and then the turbulence where it meets the sea.
But I am not the river flowing to the sea.
I am the riverbank monitoring the journey.
The river is the seat, the vessel of emotions,
and my feelings are as varied and rough
as the rocks in the riverbed.

November 1, 1995
added, rev. 11/17