There are no small moments,
but how do you prove this
to the hero, or the progressive,
or the chief investments officer?
And how do you convince
your own soul—as you lift
the black plastic bag
from the white plastic bin
and take the hallway
to the stairs
then to the alley—
for the inertia of blood
makes the blue heart slow
to speak the splendour it sees
in snow, in wind, in light, in eyes,
and these left unattended
—their seriousness,
lost to all but the very young—
add to the verdict of
shallow moments.
And now,
there is no way around it
but to lay open and wait:
who knows, in time, with luck
you may burst into flame.
ahhhh.
Very profound
I’m trying to have ‘no small moment’ in the airport! It was easier in the sunlight.. on the sidewalk… with you.
Perhaps because I have been dealing with several newly diagnosed manic-depressive and/or suicidal students this semester (what is going on anyway?), this poem scares me.
Powerful. Made my chest tighten as I walked down that hall…
Thanks Joyce…ahhh means good I hope.
Thank you Ivon…I don’t aim for profound, and really don’t have the tools for it, but perhaps, occasionally, the writing drags me along with it.
Thanks Deb:) Lovely for you to say.
Diane, You do have your hands full…the poem wasn’t meant to be scary, but context is interesting. Hope things lighten for you. Thanks for reading though.
Thanks so much for dropping by Lisa, and thanks for your comment. Hope things are well in the state that tips your country.
I really like this riff, a lot. Well done, sir.
From a disappointed hippy to a failed Buddhist, my deepest thanks Thomas.
Time and luck, eh? I was interviewed on local TV last week about marriage (told my wife I’m now a marriage expert). My 15 minutes of fame lasted about 10 seconds – but I thought I saw a flicker of a flame…. But then I still had to take the garbage out.