Awhile ago I started a poem that resurfaced unexpectedly this weekend. It was better than I remembered, and with a few tweaks, I decided to call it done. (That's the trouble with poems. You can rework them to death and never finish anything.)
I started this after witnessing the near-death (or serious injury) of 2 pedestrians in the same week during my walking commute from work to the train and marveled at how easily any of us could meet our end a million times a day, but miraculously go on. Living so acutely aware of what could happen is a thin edge to skate as it could surely drive one crazy with worry. But somehow these brushes with mortality just keep me more aware of how wondrous life really is.
Dodging
It’s a miracle to make it through the day without dying.
Jogger, with her earphones in, darts across the intersection on a red light
Car screeches stop within inches
Driver jumps out crying and hugs her
Gaping-mouthed pedestrians look on
Train passes, gates down, man rushes out
Then jumps back within inches
As horn blares from the other direction
Commuters gasp and shake
Airplane touches down on the tarmack—
Eyes open after the sutures close—
Thief doesn’t pull the trigger—
100-year-old maple shading the bedroom rides out the storm again—
Every day the whole world crumbles
At someone else’s feet.
Inexplicably, your heart beats on.
© 2019 Amy Bordoni
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
