Author: Elizabeth Maynard

It's time to give up counting
measuring days and years
on fingers and toes
imagining
this will be the day
my life begins
the philosopher spoke true:
leaving the safety
of a soft bed every morning
is courage

How many mornings
do I wake in a life
I do not love?
Resign myself
to duty and solitude
without the courage
to what it is I need
wondering where exactly
I went wrong
oblivious to the possibility
Maybe I was the one
who got away

Aching, itching, chills
what a relief to have these
COVID would be worse

I thought I would know
the moment
would declare itself
and I would look up
from whatever I was doing
with awe and reverie
but the truth has
whispered through me:
there is only this
there is only now

The nausea surprised
when I saw you with her
I had prepared myself
for equanimity
but when it came to it
I just felt sadness
as I made conversation
about the food I couldn't 
taste

I was just a few steps behind
bathing in the smoke
of that cigarette you dangled
between your fingers
the street darkened
beneath our feet
I restrained myself
from slipping my hand into yours
pulling that beautiful fire
to my lips

In a hollow deep
she shelters me from cold winds
her own leaves shaking

I lost an hour searching
for the how of your death
writing a story for myself
of that windswept place
far from where I knew you
your mother's house
and that day in July
when you felt free

Bow down
low on this warm earth
greet the dust
and every misty thing
with equanimity
let yourself be grasped
held and soothed
with the surety of your
first days
and last

I cannot make myself
complicated any more
I have no heart for it
it was too much

I cannot fear my life
any more
I have no taste for it
it was not enough

to sustain me as
I woke and walked
each night waiting for
the light