WHERE JOY COMES TO BE BORN

Before I was even a thought, mother walked
this same shore, saw silver bars of sun ripple

across the top of each languid roll of water. 
She bent to collect tubes of birch bark, chased 

driftwood as it tumbled in & out, daring the sand 
to catch it. She waded, soaking her pants to knees

dried her legs & feet with thick towels, laid down 
the path I follow decades later.

Like a chunk of wood torn off a tree by a storm,
all my wounds are visible.     The lake still rolls. 

This diamond of driftwood I hold in my hand 
has lost all of its splinters on its long journey home.

Diane Silver is a poet, essayist, and journalist who seeks to confront the monsters in our lives, celebrate the triumphs of our survival, and dance with the glories of the wild. Her work has appeared in Ms Magazine, The Progressive, MockingHeart Review, The Lavender Review, and numerous anthologies. Her books include the Daily Shot of Hope meditation series. She produces Poetry & Life at DianeSilver.Substack.com, an AI-free newsletter and podcast.