Sunday, March 24, 2019

The closest thing to a night without a poem


Days like this
it’s a good thing
it’s not up to me
to keep myself going

I would shrivel up, no doubt,
or wander aimlessly
toward the next thing
to put in my mouth,
would stumble around
from armchair to couch

I would be hopeless according to
all standards of achievement.
But here is the marvel: 
it’s not up to me. And here
is the moral: there’s no need
to hound myself (or anyone).
Our presence and goodness
are assured. Just not by us.

©Wendy Mulhern

March 24, 2019

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