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River washing down canyons
echoing with women.
My hands touch clay, touch stone,
touch ropes, touch water, touch
sand.......touch each other.
My hands hold on to the other for
support, for familiarity.
Shaky I float down this river
watching my daughter, young and
energetically challenge rapids....
I know this place within me, but not
today. My hands hold tighter to
each other, feels the bones and dry
skin that darken in the sun. I will
not challenge the rapids today nor
tomorrow. I hold my hands and lift
them to my face to wipe my tears.
I cannot tell if I am sad or happy

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