by Meta Marie Griffin

 

I will not ask for relief;

only for stamina to make it through the night.

I cannot ask for a convenient belief,

instead an enigmatic mosaic full of darkness and light.

 

I do not desire magic in a bottle.

but the need to pay attention

to the miracle of butterflies and flight,

and all the life around me that is so often unseen.

 

I do not desire a throng of friends,

help me to find love in my own skin

so that when we meet,

you will recognize my face.

 

I will not wish for a cure.

I only need the strength to take that next step

and when I reach the top I will wait for you there.

I will leave behind this little prayer.

by m.m. griffin

I hear cackles from earlier generations

and echoes of past conversations

in the water’s thucks and bubbles.

The voices are wet branches against the sky.

 

I see images of vaguely familiar faces

and distant places in the foamy water

crashing over rocks and swirling

in the river’s spiral.

 

I want to wade in the shallow water

and revel in the current’s resistance,

but there is not enough time.

 

I watch a man toss his rod into brown water.

After three attempts, he catches a small fish.

 

I try to remember something unseen

and wonder how far the river flows.

I want to stay and play for a while,

but I must go.