Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Poem: May 27, 2019

Vanity

One shouldn't ask others
to list the things for which
one will be remembered.
But how else is one to know?

We spend our days
accomplishing what we
accomplish, being who
we think we ought to be,
but who can predict what
others will remember?

A bad haircut, or the time
you passed out on the stairs,
or your habit of collecting
boxes of sand from each
beach you visit. Or some
association you've forgotten-
a song, the smell of apples,
a deck of cards, the moon.

We will live on in ways
we did not choose. Not
the tellers, but the told.

And who would not want
to see themselves as they
are drawn with someone
else's pen, to see the dust
that we've tracked in?


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