The thing about impermanence is that it cuts both ways
The plant in the cup dies
The wild things die
Our pets die
So do we.
On the other hand this
Illness, grey days, the seeming
Endlessness of winter.
For a select few
The illness passes only into death,
The injustice lives on,
the grey stretches out forever.
We would like to think that few is a few,
Three, maybe four souls per
We know we are wrong.
A few is a fallacy,
Naïve gentling of the ranks that fall into line under
The classified ad:
For lifelong relationship
I am lying here, grateful,
Joints, nerves, muscles, bones,
Pressing like clockwork with every beat of my heart,
Secure in the fairy tale
That this will not last forever.
Not two hours south is a new mother whose freak accident has left her paralyzed from the neck down.
I cannot possibly imagine.
She is determined to walk again.
I will cook,
I will drive,
I will go to the ball,
I will walk away from this one.