by Mia Wright
freeze.
do not be afraid of rigid
moments in this life
for we all harden.
sometimes
there is not enough warmth
to sustain us, but water
teaches leaves and rivers
each winter
to get still and let go:
of undulating in riverbeds
of painting the trees in brilliant green
of life as we know it.
encased in the silence
of icy immobility
is a promise of something new.
just wait.
you will thaw
and live, lush again.
flow.
gravity places her demands
on all of us –
it’s OK to go as you are pulled.
water shows us that
flow is consent,
not a passive submission.
it is the ultimate humility
to feel what’s real,
what’s right and necessary
in any moment and just
be present there.
you know, it’s no mistake
that “current” means
right now.
drip.
learn to mete yourself out
as your cloud intuition advises.
decide what pieces of you
belong where and for how long.
let your droplets
kiss petals,
light up the earth
in mists or heavy downpour
according to what this
parched world needs.
but especially according
to what you can
freely give.
crash.
water says you are
an intricate system of force –
you are feather-light
and ton after ton
of pressure
aligned perfectly with
the moon.
so when it is right
and you are ready
go hard as the tides do.
your impact will be repaid
with possibility.
evaporate.
water gives us all
permission to leave.
whenever it is time.
never mourn a goodbye,
it says.
the beads of condensation
on your glass
have other places to be,
other purposes to serve,
and so do you.
flood.
the world sometimes is too much
and we are too much with it.
seasons will come in your life
when excess
is the only measurement.
you will well up with sorrow
or love or fear
until something inside you breaks.
not because you are weak
but because enough
is enough.
just flood.
weep or scream or speak
until you’re emptied,
allow your overflow to be
its own reckoning.
you will cleanse
what is contaminated.
you will kill
what must die so newness
can be born.
it’s all right.
breathe and open your eyes.
you just changed the world,
didn’t you?
the water says,
“you’re welcome.”
Mia Wright (she/her) is an Oklahoma native, single parent, and seer. Her poems have appeared in This Land, Word Riot, The Girl God, Watershed, and some restaurant napkins. Wright was a finalist for the 2004 Grolier Poetry Prize and earned an MFA in Poetry from Boise State University. Blog: https://19poems.blog/
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