Going to the River – M.A. Morris

She was standing at the ready
To make me say I am wrong.
Like some saint,
I had to pluck out my eyes
To see, to see
The contortionist
She could be with words.

I laid hands upon myself
And am cured of blindness,
Cured of deafness,
And now she hates me.
Since I said,
“Get behind me, Serpent!
That dance of manipulation
No longer mesmerizes me!”

At least my head is not upon a platter,
Being served to her.

Now, I am going to the river.
Doesn’t matter where it is.
Doesn’t matter how far I must walk.
I’ll wear my shoes out
And walk my feet bloody and raw.
I am gonna dunk myself in that river,
Not her stagnate lake.
I won’t care if it’s frozen over.
I’ll dig through the ice with just my fingers.
I’ll baptize myself in icy chunks
Of slush if I must.
You see, the stench and dirt of her
Has got to go. I must be cleansed:
Mind and body and soul.
So I am going to the river,
Gonna scrub myself on the washing board
On the banks of the river, scrub-a-dub her
And all her stains away.

I’m going to the river.
I’m gonna come out clean,
As if brand spankin’ new,
Take back my name
And write with the one
I own.
No one can hold me back.
I’m going to the river.

 


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

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