Living This Way

Living this way,
this life, or any other,
the toxins pile up,
pile higher, leak in

and out, penetrate,
perpetrate, poison
us
faster

and faster.
There is no getting
around it, this dying
of the slow poison

of our lives,
of the relentless, mild hurts,
of the searing pain,
the constant humbling,

the wounds and grief,
the unrewarded snatch and grab,
the soundless scream. No getting by
the empty glory, however long the mourner’s line,

of the lonely grave.
The good times, too,
the joyful heart beating,
the slow and easy grace

of home, the laughter of
children in the unequivocal grip
of happiness, these also
are the nightshade, the deadly spice,

the too-sweet nectar,
the blinding fireworks
that light us on our
stumbling way here.

But where we are now,
bathed in beauty, about to touch,
to linger in this moment,
is where we are now.

We are, each of us, the product of our
re-imagining of our own history.
This is how we drive ourselves forward
into whatever happens next.