Driftwood

— t r a b o c c o

we’re both to blame
but blame don’t build bridges,
it only echoes in the smoke.

maybe if we’d been more honest
before we burned it all down
we could’ve watched the fire together
instead of pretending it was warmth.

you moved on to something great,
and I’m glad, my love,
though I’m sorry I never told you
this is how fractured looks

a woman gone
before her heart
settles in...
ghosts
wind
what's the difference;
I've vanished either way.

I’ve been here before…
a wall I can’t climb,
a signal shot over the top,
dangling hope
praying someone would risk the return...
bring it all back.

I thought loving you
might give me some peace,
but it only showed me...
how restless a soul can be.

turns out
you were just another turn
on a long path
in disguise.

and maybe
so was I.

now I stand here,
beats in my chest,
thinking if I jump in the river,
the current might teach me
how to flow back to you.

is this how it’s done?
god—
I’m a tomboy trying to wear a skirt,
clumsy at fuck,
scratching at grace,
so lost
so human.

these riddles,
these paths…
rapids
rocks
do they ever smooth?

I hear of calm
from deathbeds,
the elderly,
whispered by monks
on clouds...
mountaintops.

but here,
where you and I walk,
I just see whirlpools—
lessons repeat
like days of the week,

and currents...
ha...
currents...
well they just keep
pulling me under.

and so it goes
these are the trials—

the current grips and spins,
breaths swallowed whole,
edges carve the body’s truth...

pain becomes water,
moving, always moving.

fighting the tide or taken by it,
wrestling the flow—
or riding the ripple
does it matter which...

can a woman ever rise
by brute strength alone—
or is it her wit,
her knowing,
that keeps her above the pull?

because if we're raised clever
every girl knows...
it's not victory
it's intelligent surrender

god save me
not from drowning—
but from forgetting the surface.

and will I even get better
or is better
just learning how to float,
while the river teaches
in ebbs and flows.

such is life—
up and down
until we settle
for any sign of attention...

a broken branch,
adrift like me...
exhaustion
relief
my face rests—
on the fall colored wood.

body
weightless
over
the
grain.

a time of no resistance
a godsend
the sounds of rushing water...
a temporary solace
a kind of hush.

it’s not salvation
it’s suspension
it’s what survives

as if a mood
could save me
from drowning.

and yet,
between the notes,
this breath of still water...
a pulse of silence.

driftwood
a momentary savior,
a presence—

floating me
just long enough
to see
the sky.