The weight we carry.

September 1, 2019 § 3 Comments

Does time have weight?

Do we store it in our bones,

or carry it, unwieldy,

in our arms?

*

Is it the accumulated

weight of time that

wears us out,

makes us old?

*

I wonder…

can we set that burden down,

travel light again like

a child who lives

in the splendor of right now?

*

Can that newness be

snuck up on and captured

like a firefly

in a jar?

Note: I know the photo is faked. I spent enough summer nights with a jar of fireflies beside my bed to know that in captivity they rarely spark. Some things cannot be captured and held, like the wink of a firefly or the easy comfort of life in a body during its early years.

We cannot snatch either out of the thin air and keep it as if it were our own. But we can imagine. We can remember.  

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§ 3 Responses to The weight we carry.

  • scorpions11 says:

    What a wonderful little poem! Poems are like breathing in these thoughts from the atmosphere. I marvel at what it is that we know in this shared breathing, this pulling in of the dancing molecules that cling to our planet. It is the same thoughts I wrote about recently in my blog, just breathed by another body with a different taste, a different smell. Thank you for this delight.

    Like

    • What a lovely comment! Yes, poems are as natural as breathing. The stories we tell–the long stories, like novels–are the record of the particulars of a life. Poems float much more lightly in the atmosphere.

      Like

  • It is a lift to spend my time with your timeless poem Adrian.
    Would love to see more & more.

    Like

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