The observer

I'm about to burst

of color,

burst of light.

sick of observing

sick of the sight

of the river.

I'd rather be in her,

a creator

of movement, motion, flow.

Instead of hanging on the side,

teach me how to let go

of the banks so muddy

roots reach out as they whisper "trust me. trust me."

I'm comfy, comfy

in the sludge that holds me.

 

-Kayla Viola