River by Mary Oliver The river Of my childhood, That tumbled Down a passage of rocks And cut-work ferns, Came here and there To the swirl And slowdown Of a pool And I say myself- Oh, clearly- As I knelt at one- Then I saw myself As if carried away, As the river moved on. Where have I gone? Since then I have looked and looked For myself, Not sure Who I am, or where, Or, more importantly, why. It’s okay- I have had a wonderful life. Still, I ponder Where that other is- Where I landed, What I thought, what I did, What small or even maybe meaningful deeds I might have accomplished Somewhere Among strangers, Coming to them As only a river can- Touching every life it meets- That endlessly kind, that enduring
One of my favorite mid century prints that I have treasured for years and years, it speaks to me in so many ways, as Mary Oliver does, the poetry is in the print as it flows out and swirls about, like a graceful river, in all it's beautiful muted colors of nature.