What Holds Water

I charge my staff and so I’m
off to chart abysmal waters,

the depths of what carries me
—gone the days of bikini-clad

paddleboarding, blithe and
sunlit-assured. It’s dark and

a young child crafting a raft
on the edges of the whirlpool

drags me under. (I left as the falls
swept me down and I’ll still go

if you shout or hit.) That child
of ingenuity rises with immense

power (grabbing my wheel and
plunging me into old stories

while you gape). Music brings
me back to this place grounded

in the melodious roots of the
very planet. I trace the circle

of light and illuminate every glimmer
resonating in this particular eddy

of my soul growth. Every fallen
star available, the atoms of my

composition recycled dinosaurs
and queens, inspired artists and

ruthless Kurgan hordes sweeping
down to my rich and verdant

plains. Wherever the world gathers
to watch a ball flung, kicked, hit

into the air, I’m there, sailing
on the waves of thrumming

vibrancy. Our interlacing
song waking, tuning myself

(we accompany each other’s
unacknowledged harmony)

in this precise key, opening
my throat to sing the exact note

you need to hear in the loving
field we recreate in time.

Inspired by: Melodious, Charge, Ingenuity and Chart.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

2 thoughts on “What Holds Water”

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