It’s difficult to know how to use
this limited time we got.
Better to be a mayfly
searching for a one-day stand
Or maybe be a soap bubble
expanding its breath a glorious once
Better to be a rock
with stony laughter.
Or maybe an island
keeping to itself a million years
before going underwater.
A human life is only long enough
to realize it’s not.
Notes on poem:
Poets and Writer’s The Time is Now e-newsletter came today. Number 17. It is also week 17 of my second year being underemployed.
The big toenail of each foot has come off during those 69 weeks due to separate cases of being in the wrong spot as I pulled a heavy load. The left one seems to have grown back to semi-normal. The right one, not so much.
I wonder if it will heal. Or if I will see it. I wonder if week 32 will find me in a better place. Or homeless. Or maybe an aneurysm at week 31 will make thoughts of week 32 moot.
At week 17, I still have power to type this. An Electric Disconnect letter makes having such a luxury at week 18 uncertain. I meet with someone today to request assistance. If successful, I can spend week 18, lights on, worrying about week 19 Food and Shelter.
Maybe week 20 I will find a better job. Maybe week 25 I will find Tin House liking the story I sent them. Maybe week 45 I will get a book deal.
Or maybe week 18 is week number 1 in another 69 weeks.