Fisher Queen

I told a story to the river

about a mutual friend of ours
and how she loved
the way its scent would carry the stories
of what happens
when the river meets the sea.

The river said seeing me
reminded it of a story,
the one about an old king
and a wound that would not heal.

"The Fisher King", I said, remembering
she loved stories of Camelot too.
It’s true. Some wounds never really go away.

But the thing about a heart
that will always bleed a little,

means that there’s plenty to use as ink
to craft into stories
about kings and queens,

that I can tell to the river
so it can carry them back to the sea.

Photo by Jared Subia on Unsplash

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was created for the Friday Writings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United, Bleeding Heart.