Upstream

I am not this stream
bending gently around
a strand of trees, a path

of least resistance.
I could be
if I believed

the end
is a soft drop
into the waiting hands

of a placid lake,
a calm sea.
But who knows

if this way becomes a torrent,
a racing to the edge
of a steep waterfall,

a mighty crashing down.
Or, perhaps worse,
a drifting away

until everything dries up,
a cracked river bed,
a lonely last resting place.

So, I will not go easily
get swept away.
I’ll make demands.

Be willful.
Carve my own path
through the hard rock.

And you will let me
until I’m crushed or
drowned in my own desires

then you’ll say again
This way
and I might follow.

Published by asaur