The fountain is deep.
It’s unfathomable, yet I’m barely even feeling it.
Perhaps that’s why it’s unfathomable—
unable to comprehend or reach.
I feel such intense sorrow, yet writing that doesn’t seem true because I’m not quite feeling it.
I know it’s there, but it’s like I’m
floating
on a very deep pond
and only dipping my toes,not really experiencing the water.
I want to dive, to jump in, to open the flood gates and let it flow freely.
I’m not frustrated that it seems blocked—
more confused than anything, wondering why it can’t come.
Maybe it needs to build more to break the dam.
Most of the time, though, throughout the day I feel fine, and even wonderful,
but a blippet of a moment may come where I feel the water rippling,
reminding me that I have some swimming to do.
The water doesn’t scare me.
I want to bathe, to soak, to immerse,
But I can’t get in yet.
It’s not time.
April Murdock
6.28.04
