She Declared

"I am not a princess." and let her

Woven crown of purple clover drift downstream.

She sat at the base of a water-logged weeping willow,

Swirling a lily pad in a reservoir of pure glass

And unpolluted grace.

Spinning in a pitter-patter pattern and translating

The tune of a gurgling creek, she sang.

Sweet mysterious little siren.


"I am one of the river-folk." a lotus-eater

Bathing in reedy depths of bottomless dew

And drying on a bed of smooth jet river stones.

She drank honey-suckle nectar and sank low

Into murky water, pulled by morose currents

Feeling tumbled and worn and authentic.

She let herself be carried.


"I am a waterfall." churning and fluid and fast

She anticipated the drop but forgot how to swim

Wait. Wait. Wait! she knew she wasn't ready

To fall rugged and hard and--oh--This is going to hurt

Plunging into bright white rapids, caught and

Pummeled by spraying adrenaline, she choked on

Mouthfuls of her washed up dream.

She sought safety on the shore.