Tide Within

by Jennifer Wren Call

Beneath the calm, the churn—
waves that never stop.
They crash covert,
under skin,
beneath the practiced grin.

We walk like still water,
but inside?
Swells.
Riptides of thought,
undertows of memory
dragging anchors
while we sip our tea.

So how do we calm it?
How do we hush the inner sea?

We breathe—slow as driftwood.
We stretch like shorelines pulled by tide.
We smile without audience.
We wave to strangers,
build tiny bridges with nods.

We never catch.
We always release.
We drink water like wine.
We give thanks toward the sky,
touch the earth with our knees.

Peace isn’t silence.
It’s knowing the noise—
and choosing
not to echo it.