Housing Shortage*

I always
tried to
live small.

Like my favorite poem says.

“I tried to step carefully
And to think softly
And to breathe shallowly
In my portion of air
And to disturb no one.”

But then I spread out
(I cannot help it).

I don’t take anything
that I don’t need,
but my needs
grow like weeds.

You read a poem
and it changes
your life.

You wonder how
another human being
could understand you
so completely.

You carry it around
in your heart
and your pocket,
its weight anchoring
you to the rest
of the world
somehow.

You learn about living.

And then one day
you learn that
you were living
it all wrong and
everything you
thought was
important about
that poem was
only the first part
of the story.

But, since I am living:
Given inches, I take yards,
Taking yards, dream of miles…
~11/13/14
_____
*With all proper credit and thanks to the writer of my favorite poem, Naomi Replansky:
Housing Shortage

I tried to live small.
I took a narrow bed.
I held my elbows to my sides.
I tried to step carefully
And to think softly
And to breathe shallowly
In my portion of air
And to disturb no one.

But see how I spread out and I cannot help it.
I take to myself more and more, and I take nothing
That I do not need, but my needs grow like weeds,
All over and invading; I clutter this place
With all the apparatus of living.
You stumble over it daily.

And then my lungs take their fill.
And then you gasp for air.

Excuse me for living,
But, since I am living,
Given inches, I take yards,
Taking yards, dream of miles
And a landscape, unbounded
And vast in abandon.
And you dreaming the same.

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s