The River Basket

I set old letters inside a basket,

words float far from the house

where I first learned about pain.


Sometimes the same river

overflows with sadness,

circles back to us as adults,


flooding houses set too close

to the water. Sometimes what

we let go of years before


finds its way to the new

front porch, reminding us of

the hurt we once endured as children.

The Words We Use
Zen Rain