While perched on the riverbank
Mud seeping sneakily into my jeans
As sunlight lanced into the denim, scorching my skin
I caressed a worry stone that had jabbed me from my pocket
So many anxieties it held
As my fingers scrubbed its surface smooth
Rubbing my fallacies into the stone’s hollow
Tasting freedom in the balmy air
The stone leapt from my fingers
Plunging down the riverbank
And into the calm, rushing waters of Lethe far below me
Beyond my reach and any wish to chase it
Escaping my frantic fears… to leave me lighter
I wrote this while thinking about how anxiety builds up quietly, like pockets filling with pebbles until you can hardly move. Today, I imagined letting one of those stones go, trusting the river to carry it somewhere far beyond my sight. The name Lethe felt right because in Greek mythology, it’s the river of forgetfulness, and letting go of a fear is the first step toward peace.
Poetry, for me, is a way of loosening the knots my brain ties. Novels ask for structure and plot. But poems let me experiment with images, senses, and rhythm. Small sentences are makes me braver about writing bigger ones.
It’s been slow going on the fiction front. But every small creative act, every worry stone dropped, feels like reclaiming a bit of myself. If you’re also trying to write again after a long pause, maybe you need a moment like this too. Sit somewhere quiet, notice a detail, turn it into a few words, and see what loosens.
And if you’d like to read some of the fiction I’ve already written, you can check it out here. I’m always looking for new readers (or readers that just want to check back in with some fictional old friends).
