Sciences Participating with Arts & Culture in Education

Running Water

Illustrated by Marian Schurman,

A cycle without suspense,

the epitome of white picket fence.

Aren’t I worth more?

I crave the fear of decisions that roar,

the endless thrill, with my heart beating

like a sea shore during a storm.

Is living in captivity even worth it?

A cave with no end in sight and a loneliness so deep

that it rings behind my eyes,

and all I want to be is wise.

A red flag, that’s what it is, but who am I to judge?

I’m merely a pawn in the bigger picture,

my actions forced, my will on the

floor.

Will I regret it?

I want to live on my own terms but

the bad men are lurking and

I am shrinking.

To help myself requires work,

but what if I can’t get out of the web?

I’m locked in place, my life is at my feet,

not in my hands,

I can see its red thread.

It ties around my heart and pulls,

looking me straight in the pupils;

will it ever stop?

I could find satisfaction with what I have,

but my brain has grown large and

craves to see past black depths.

But what if it brings death?

I can see its breath, it creates the showers,

and I have no shawl and now I am raw.

Forget the questions, I say. Forget them all,

I yell.

I will remove myself from this shell,

reborn into a treasure and strut onto the road.

They’ll all say: get her! By then, too far to reach,

I am the queen of this beach.

The water will touch my toes, the

depths will poison and sink away.

I’ll walk to the cave where my

mother grew; she only left me

a comb and her existential purpose.

I do want to learn from them but

the cycle will make do and I already

drowned the thread. 

Sunk to the bottom of the water,

I am far ahead, sunk to dry sand,

on top of land.

To let go of the bugging thoughts,

and to drink out of a coffee mug,

awake, awake,

I am the light.