Let Me Be As a River
       

nothing but motion, muck
mouthed, mud hearted, brackish,
all dirty at the lip, with rise and fall
that exposes hull-gouging stones, no
curiosity about source, no knowledge
of destination, just willingness
to bear anything right to the end,
silver as fish skin, one hour
wrinkled, two hours smooth,
duck-fouled, trash-choked, silent
then gossiping under a full, red moon;
let me be dredged
when the leggy girls go missing,
used for a slow cruise, churned
for speed, reeking of the unseen
ocean or veiled in the scent
of pine trees, a fog in the head
then clear as the tip of a pin,
enough beauty to draw blood,
enough anger to strip the banks,
enough fullness to carry
the pleasure boats high.

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Copyright © 2021 Kirun Kapur All rights reserved
from Women in the Waiting Room
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission