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.