Larder

Welcome back to Poetry Monday. Hope you all survived the weekend weather, and are ready to face a new week refreshed by your break. We all need a repository to help nourish us through lean times, as the following poem informs us.

Here’s my larder,

laid away in the bloom of today against a meager tomorrow.

These stacked boxes contain footsteps,

collected on long, effortless walks

for when I slow and shuffle

and find myself back in my chair

never having left.

(And those in the corner

are for going up and down stairs

like they aren’t mountains,

like elevators were never invented.)

These are cans of whispers

in loud bars, crowded restaurants, parties,

plucked from the lips of lovers and friends

that I will listen to when other sounds

are a slushy rush of mouths and clatter.

These are racks of dried details

that I picked effortlessly, thoughtlessly out of the world.

I’ll add water to expand my vision

when my attention narrows to a tunnel

pointing ponderously to this or that and nothing else.

Hanging on the ceiling are links of salted thoughts,

each leading tight and fibrous to the next.

I will consume them like meaty rosaries

when my own thoughts begin to drift and dead-end.

Back here are oak barrels of sleep

that I’ll bottle for those future four AMs

when I lie parched in bed

wandering in the waking emptiness between oases gone to dust.

And those sacks bulge with moments

in which nothing hurts, nothing at all.

I know, they’re huge, countless grains in each,

but they’re a vanishing fraction of the moments

that have slipped unnoticed through my fingers.

I’m afraid they won’t be enough.

p.ferenczi

This entry was posted in America, Books and Literature, Family, friendship, Loneliness, Poetry, Relatioships. Bookmark the permalink.

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