If the river don’t rise
I’ll come on down the mountain.
Show up with all the grit
born into my bones
From a life of bologna sandwiches
and the kindness of neighbors.
I know how to show up.
I tried my hand at Granny’s potato salad for you.
If only you could see me when you accept it.
I never understood someone who can take
without the desire to return.
Light in the eyes or warmth in your hands
if you could find it.
Your lonely cup is always full.
But if the river don’t rise I’ll
set myself aside as I’ve done so many times
to see you.