#closing - Hello Poetry

“doors are always closing and parts of yourself are left behind them forever.” Caitlyn Flanagan* <> or are they? she departs the school playground with her two little boys in tow, never to return for they have left the elementary life behind, the children have gradated to a higher level of schooling, differing challenges, and thus, she reflects… as the mirrors of our lives periodically are exchanged for changing perspective of our selves <> even as we progress, we nonetheless turn our necks for backward glances, at the distances traversed, ever dimmer as we time travel through space over always rushin of time’s currents <> this ritualistic departing repeats the process of segmentation, constant conversion of present into past, and future into present <> invisible but realized lines of demarcation are both subtly and bluntly created, we exchanges milieus, we act in different roles, we do not understand always the why, but we recognize the fearsome quiet of loss and of forfeiture, as the perpetual flow of quiet eroding tides, moves us about, forwards, sideways and even backwash backwards, willingly and unwillingly to different beaches <> sometimes events force us to turn back, taste the past, which we may or may not fully recognize or even recollect <> did we close these doors behinds us did we leave, or exchange parts of us thereby? some of us, who overvalue the unknown possibilities of roads ahead, life’s perpetual entrepreneurs, <> and some of us, go back repeatedly, excavateurs like me, sifting the sand and soil, the rocks and fossilized débris, to better comprehend, excuse, explain away, the who of what we are today, and are becoming tomorrow from the clues of our happenstance <> 3:23AM 5.11.202Sexto restlessly resting while explicating the future from the past

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May 11

May 11, 2026 at 2:47 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

doors are always closing and parts of yourself are left behind them forever.

“doors are always closing and parts of yourself are left behind them forever.” Caitlyn Flanagan* <> or are they? she departs the school playground with her two little boys in tow, never to return for they have left the elementary life behind, the children have gradated to a higher level of schooling, differing challenges, and thus, she reflects… as the mirrors of our lives periodically are exchanged for changing perspective of our selves <> even as we progress, we nonetheless turn our necks for backward glances, at the distances traversed, ever dimmer as we time travel through space over always rushin of time’s currents <> this ritualistic departing repeats the process of segmentation, constant conversion of present into past, and future into present <> invisible but realized lines of demarcation are both subtly and bluntly created, we exchanges milieus, we act in different roles, we do not understand always the why, but we recognize the fearsome quiet of loss and of forfeiture, as the perpetual flow of quiet eroding tides, moves us about, forwards, sideways and even backwash backwards, willingly and unwillingly to different beaches <> sometimes events force us to turn back, taste the past, which we may or may not fully recognize or even recollect <> did we close these doors behinds us did we leave, or exchange parts of us thereby? some of us, who overvalue the unknown possibilities of roads ahead, life’s perpetual entrepreneurs, <> and some of us, go back repeatedly, excavateurs like me, sifting the sand and soil, the rocks and fossilized débris, to better comprehend, excuse, explain away, the who of what we are today, and are becoming tomorrow from the clues of our happenstance <> 3:23AM 5.11.202Sexto restlessly resting while explicating the future from the past