“Every day, several times a day, a thought comes over me”

(With thanks to Woody Guthrie)

I feel like the little Dutch boy trying to keep the dyke from collapsing;

I can hear the roar, and feel the power
behind the steady drip and gush around my too slight fingers.

There is a never-ending torrent behind the crumbling wall,
the crack of looming collapse, the rush of catastrophe and ruin.

So much, and so many depending on my slowing down the storm, turning the tide;
my hands and shoulder press uselessly against the fissures.

I am not strong enough, not brave enough, not wise enough, or patient enough;
I fear going under.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 25 August 2016