POLITICAL Poem: The River Calls Us Back, by Nma Dhahir

The river does not ask permission
when it carves a valley into the earth,
nor does it wait for us to remember
the names we once gave it.

It sings in the voices of silt and minnows,
its vowels smooth as skipping stones.
Somewhere, an otter presses its belly to the current,
a heron angles its beak toward sky,
and a tree lets go of its leaves,
not in grief, but in trust.

We dip our hands into the cold and call it home.
Even now, even after dams and droughts,
it hums through the fault lines of our bones,
reminding us we are never separate.
The river moves, and we move with it.

Author: poetryfest

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