Most of what I do
goes on and on
and on
and
on
The search for right work
the path to self-knowledge
the cultivation of compassion
On and on
into motherfucking
infinity
and will do so
until the clock is stopped
on my heart
or my brain,
whichever comes first.
So some of what I do
must be carved
into finite bits:
the dishes
the dinner
the laundry
the bills
I will do them again,
of course.
Nothing is finite
from far enough back
but more an illusion
I conjure
to keep from going mad
with the bigness of it all
But for now
I will pretend
that it is just this sink full of dishes
this pot of soup
these two loads
this one bill
and cross them off my list,
one
by
one
in mental red pen.
Maybe a thing done well
mostly, a thing done, period.
One needs the closure
when one trucks in ellipses…
xxx
c
Image by vmiramontes via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.
{ 5 comments }
Don’t ever say you aren’t a poet. I’ve started looking forward to Thursday just so I can click on your blog. Thanks.
This poem is not only pleasing to read — it sounds good — but is right on the mark, philosophically, I think.
Elaine – Thank you. I admit, I still feel funny about the whole thing, but I love doing it, and I’m deLIGHTed that other people do, too.
Greg – Thanks, I appreciate that. Trust me, when you’re as fearful of just putting it out there (poetry? EEEEEEE!!!!!!), it’s nice to have validation on more than one front.
You = awesome.
This poem is fabulous and speaks to the heart of the matter. Thanks for sharing it with us!
Comments on this entry are closed.