Step out on mossy water’s-edge rock,
let the river’s rush take you
When you’re ready, kneel,
and select a secret
from the heavy chandelier
inside your chest.
Whisper it to the water.
She will carry it in her molecules
around the bend, out of sight.
Your secret will
steam from tea sipped in Vietnam,
slide down an antelope’s throat
trickle from a glacier in Greenland,
hurl from cumulonimbus clouds
onto cobbled streets in Belgium,
trill through secret underground paths,
rise up a redwood’s trunk,
turn into a silver helix
twisting from your bathroom faucet,
washing over you.
Perhaps you have the good fortune to live close by a river or even a stream, but if not, your imagination will take you there in Weldon’s poem. Have you ever stood by the edge of moving water and let the river’s rush take you / beyond yourself ? It’s the kind of moment that can both take you out of yourself and bring you into the moment to select a secret / from the heavy chandelier inside your chest. If we whisper this secret to the water, it will be carried around the bend, out of sight.
Then comes a marvelous travelogue of places your liquid secret might visit: steam from tea sipped in Vietnam, to a trickle from a glacier in Greenland, to rain onto cobbled streets in Belgium, from antelopes to water rising in redwoods’ trunks, until it becomes a silver helix / twisting from your bathroom faucet. I love this idea of my deepest secrets traveling through water around the world, becoming translucent, transformed.
What do you think? What secrets do you want to whisper to the nearest rushing water, even a small creek, that might allow this transformation? A small ritual to wash through you.