"You don't know how lucky you have it,”
I say as I brake for the bird
who is hopping uncertainly
in the middle of the intersection,
torn between flight
and flirting with death
one second longer.
Today it will live.
I press my foot down on the gas pedal.
One day our sun will stop burning-
our universe will freeze, contract, and be reborn;
empires will fall and rise,
but will never see you skin your knees
or fight with your mother;
the wind will never carry away the chalk dust
from your grinning face.
Life persists but bears its scars;
and I see them
in the way we wish on the light of stars
that have been dead for thousands of years;
and I feel them
in the way that fingers trace the stretch marks
that have not yet faded from your mothers stomach.
A still small lump lies in the middle of the barren road,
and I swerve to avoid it
even though the squirrels guts
have already been painted across the gravel
and the baby’s ashes
have already been returned to the cold earth.
The world doesn't stop turning
for either;
but I weep
for both.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
"You don't know how lucky you have it,”
I say as I brake for the bird
who is hopping uncertainly
in the middle of the intersection,
torn between flight
and flirting with death
one second longer.
Today it will live.
I press my foot down on the gas pedal.
One day our sun will stop burning-
our universe will freeze, contract, and be reborn;
empires will fall and rise,
but will never see you skin your knees
or fight with your mother;
the wind will never carry away the chalk dust
from your grinning face.
Life persists but bears its scars;
and I see them
in the way we wish on the light of stars
that have been dead for thousands of years;
and I feel them
in the way that fingers trace the stretch marks
that have not yet faded from your mothers stomach.
A still small lump lies in the middle of the barren road,
and I swerve to avoid it
even though the squirrels guts
have already been painted across the gravel
and the baby’s ashes
have already been returned to the cold earth.
The world doesn't stop turning
for either;
but I weep
for both.
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