Poem: December 30, 2019

Penultimate

So I did a thing
for an entire year.

I noted the world
and felt my place
within it.

First person, observer.

A thumbtack lifted
and placed each day
on a map, or

a sieve
passed through
an ocean.

And I saw all
the colors I saw.

And I touched
all the rough
surfaces I touched.

And I tasted food
and blood and
kisses.

I filtered it all
through my lungs,
my skin, and then,
out through my pen.

And to what end?

Except to say
I did this work and
didn't let so much
slip away unseen.

I learned that life
is what it seems
to be: little and
long and worthy
of the time and
sacrifices,

deserving of all
the small daily
temples we build

to love, to fear,
to what we can't see.

So I am grateful to
have stood my watch.

I am better for it.