My counselor asked me,
“In times of adversity, with a river
as the metaphor, would you rather
be the rock or the water?”

In spite of pretending it was philosophical,
I clearly chose incorrectly, because, all clinical
jargon aside, I had not chosen what she would.

But you see, I couldn’t be the water
any more than she could be the rock.
If we could choose, adversity would never
overflow the river’s shores.

Yet here I sit, immovable for at least
a million years, while she swirls around
the edges of my defenses…
rushing, rushing by without effect.

In the meantime, adversity itself
Softens my hard edges in ways
metaphors wish they could.

What are you looking for?