Poem: Untitled by Jillanna Babb

Untitled

By Jillanna Babb

 

Where does the ripple of events begin: past, present, or future? When foreshadowing seems undeniable in retrospect, could the path of experience have been predicted? What do we already know, yet wait to understand? When a writer users foreshadowing too heavily or obviously, I cringe a little. But I see it in life, and I try to ignore the blatant echo. Rain on the water creates the illusion of little boats, their sails arching and disappearing. The mermaids dive merrily in the waves, laughing! Rain, like tears, washes away our sadness, cycling from sea to sky and back again. We are weightless in the water; it feels like flying. The elements lift us, and we spin and turn. Immersing, rising, standing, diving, moving between the earth and the sky, needful and longing for what we already possess.

 

September 12, 2016