What It Means To Be Wet

For years now I’ve stood
along the edge of this river.
The shallow water shifting over
pebbles and sand, playing
games with driftwood and fallen leaves.


Watching, wading,
here I’ve learned part of Her story.


But sometimes - when no one is looking -
I’ll lay down
and pretend that
this
is what it means to be wet.


As I lay here, submerged,
I hear Her whisper from
further out.
Her long, cold fingers invite me
to deeper waters,
yet I still hold
to roots and branches
along the shoreline.


I have sometimes believed it to be enough -
this hesitant immersion -
though, in truth, I cannot call it
surrender.
Her wells run deeper
than my willingness in wading
has ever shown.


Today, instead of clinging to the rocks,
I’m letting go.
Look for me in the ocean -
I’ll be learning to swim.


West Latta - 2009