Humming it close.

Blue waves, water, abstract, painting

There was a river in the hymns that the grandmas kept under their breath. It wound across the landscape and in and out of alleyways and dark rooms, poised to wash a crossing body of its fears. Dip a hand in as often as you like, one told us, it will be a new river every time. They hummed it over dishes, over laundry, in the car, when looking past the window, unable to speak.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

2 thoughts on “River”

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