I’m still learning to let go like the petals.
How I stood in the cool wind,
rain dampening my cheeks,
in the front that all of a sudden arrived.
And noticed the blooms on the end
of a bough,
exposed upon the river’s bank.
Why they blossom and bloom at all,
I think, at the mercy of each ferocious gust?
Perhaps they have no measure for
time?
Would that I learn how not to hold on.
Would that I learn to be flotsam and jetsam.
How the waves would carry me then
without thought.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
September 2022
Living Tree Poetry 