life is fragile

life-is-fragile

We fill and fill the days.

with laundry and projects,

dental appointments and blithe certainty.

As though it did not all hang like a last maple leaf

perched on a dried stem, held in a hand with a tremor,

worn like a bracelet grown too large

on a wrist like a twig.

I believe there’s a net beneath

and the net will hold,

but each morning is a trapeze handle,

sweaty palms and thin air.

There is nothing else to do about it

but the raking, and the creaming together

of butter and sugar, the folding and putting away.

There is good work, and telling the truth,

and marking the beauty of bare branches

in the blue blue sky.

 

joining, at least for today,

in these daily prompts for November,

found via The Habit of Being

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