an exercise in wiping away
the dust and tears,
the petty futilities
of talk that says nothing
and acts that do nothing;
so many things
you pay someone to do
you end up doing yourself--
so why pay?
Borrowing time,
always borrowing,
to think, to dream, to write, to sing,
to watch the children grow
(they won't be small for long);
I don't want to miss
my second childhood,
to feel again the growing pains
and all the other hurts
of being in a new world.
Borrowing youth--
time away from
dishes and dusting,
cooking and cleaning,
sweeping and sifting,
folding and scolding;
the sun and breeze
feel different now
than the first time
I sneezed my way through.
All borrowed,
all of this life,
this incomparable,
incomprehensible life,
this experiential being,
hopefully not interest-free;
we can only hope
to reduce our debt
by loving each day,
at peril of dust and tears.
© 2012 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen
