Caught Between Currents.

I live in the pull of two currents.

One drags me toward the quiet of leaving.

The other pushes me toward the light of living.

Some days I drift easily, carried by laughter.

Other days the undertow takes hold,

and I feel myself slipping under.

What holds me is a small flame

that refuses to drown.

The hope that words can outlast me,

that someone I love, or someone I will never meet,

might catch hold of them like driftwood.

I think of my father often.

I wish he could be here instead of me.

But he has crossed the river to the other side,

the better side.

And I remain.

Perhaps my task is to write what he could not,

to leave a trail of words along the water’s edge

before the currents decide where I finally belong.