Posted Monday, September 10th, 2007
Day to Day
How can I tell you
that I live from day to day?
How can I bear the
disappointment in your eyes?
You call me out of the blue
and turn my world, already narrow,
Up on end, leaving it to totter
and right itself as it can, or not.
Back then, we each got a glimpse
of something we didn't think we could have;
you thought it beyond your reach,
I barely knew what it was.
Nobody knows, except we two,
that anything has been lost;
We both carry on as if it never happened,
as if the other never happened.
I love you for linking me
to a time when I was at large in the world.
If you love me still, it's for the same reason:
it makes for less waste, less regret;
our lives were not squandered on the wind,
did not fall on barren ground.
We did live those moments,
if only in recreated memory now.
My hair is grown white and my knees ache;
you tell me you are tired.
We have both learned to live
within the limits of reasonableness.
I no longer hold your heart,
nor, I fear now, you mine,
and yet you appear, as if to be sure
something old is still there.
It's only the past and the future
that allow us to feel pain,
so I breathe in the present,
from day to day.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Donna Levy [ firstname.lastname@example.org
] on Tuesday, September 11th, 2007 at 7:37 AM
Excellent. Contained truth for everyone. Thanks. Donna
Posted by Nancy Corbett [ email@example.com
] on Tuesday, September 11th, 2007 at 3:31 PM
This wistful poem brought to my mind a relationship I and a lover ended long ago, but one I've never quite been able to assign to the past. The closing stanza is eloquent and true.
Posted by Nonnie Augustine on Tuesday, September 11th, 2007 at 4:05 PM
Beautiful, honest poem, Margot. It speaks to everyone. Nonnie
Posted by Donia Carey on Friday, September 14th, 2007 at 2:03 AM
You speak true. Beautiful poem, Margot.