Would you mind holding my life for a second?
I want to count the counterfoils of my years.
When you reach my age,
you cannot always remember
where you left things like pens, keys,
months, seasons, even memories
of used decades, unremarkable
for having left no mark
except upon my face.
Was that my life that passed just now?
Is that all I will be allowed?
Each rationed happiness
overshadowed by a cloud
of apprehension that things could go wrong,
and then invariably did.
We all know that God runs a very tight ship.
He does not give refunds for disappointments,
nor has he made provision for second voyages,
for repeats, encores, or second turns
to say the lines one forgot to say on stage.
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How much time do I have left
to recite the lines of love
I have memorized but, pressed for time,
left unexpressed?
Time presses me now.
I feel it stiffen my hands,
season the joints of an ageing, aching heart.
It is time to heed Time’s advice
not to curl into a foetal coil,
but to rehearse sleeping straight,
in preparation.
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Published in WHEN BUSH COMES TO SHOVE. |
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