Poem by William Stafford

Ask Me

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.



This poem is so well-crafted, so seemingly simple, yet really very tricky with its word play. It holds secrets the way Plath's poetry holds secrets. You have to dig. It is an action of thought process' that requires me to pull the reigns back, twitch, circle back, move forward, pull the reigns back...