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A minute to acknowledge slices
of life sliding away like leaves off trees
in autumn. Their life cycle was beautiful,
turbulent, meaningful—and still is as
memory, mulch, (and madness, too, if we
try not to let them go). Which slices slide?
Best laid plans for growing old, what might die
first, endless committee work, friendships,
women's rights, aspects of belief. Dreams. Yet
I can't complain. I too, have slid away
from so much I now strain toward past joys.
Someday I may decide to list them all,
and attempt to breathe life into their bones.
Or glue them together, as leaves in tomes.
April is Poetry Month Day #24
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2023 Susan L. Chast
and madness, too, if we try not to let them go... that resonates.. the series I am writing is perhaps a letting go. If it works that way.
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I, too, "strain toward past joys". As the present wheels past so quickly, one harkens back to those slow, now golden days in the past.
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