If you look

Posted on Oct 4, 2014 in Poetry, Writing

If you look beneath
the faded,
the facades,
the grayed approximations
of what once was,
the kind ghosts that walk this life,
there it’ll be,
the trick the writer plays when he ticks the clock,
so slowly—
The clock called “life.”
When he bends a thriving light
which once glowed so beautifully,
as if it were simply refracted for a time.
Our odd, little temples.
He morphs children into mothers,
fathers,
grandparents.
So slowly, we hardly notice.
Until we catch it one day
in a mirror.
But this thief can’t be stopped or jailed.
There’s no door to lock.
He strolls right in
like family
And steals away
with a glass or a plate—
Working his way to
the jewelry,
the safe,
Everything most valuable and precious.
He looks you in the eye
just before he goes,
this thief of odd familiarity,
Carrying with him all your “stuff.”
He looks, as if to say, “you knew.
You knew it when you signed up for it.
This coming of age.
You knew that none of it
was permanent.
You knew.”