To My River-Daughter, with all my love, Mother Earth

by Clodagh O Connor

How alive you were, born from me as clear water, burbling over small pebbles, curving around granite rocks, rushing down mountain slopes.

How you ignored my warnings, leapt down rock faces, not looking ahead until you found yourself trapped in man-made places.

How you were forced into channels, told what was expected of you, pushed underground.

How you were sullied by the foulness of that life, but you pushed on, found your strength, burst forth.

How you deepened and grew powerful, stopping for nothing until you embraced the wide, wild, open ocean.
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CLODAGH O CONNOR lives in Dublin, Ireland, and is working on becoming a writer. She particularly enjoys the challenges of tiny fiction. She can be found on Bluesky at @iamagnat.bsky.social.​

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