Today is a waterfall of sludge.
I’m at the river’s edge
covered in mud,
a sieve in my hand.
I stand by the waterfall
trying to catch the flakes,
those tiny bits of gold that remind me
today hasn’t been all grim.
See, I wrote part of a poem;
I walked the dog –
I catch these flakes in my sieve,
letting the rest of the day’s muck
tumble on down to get washed
away by the river.
Tomorrow might be better,
I tell myself,
as I put the flakes in my bag,
dry myself off
and head softly, silently
into the night.
Joshua Seigal
