Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.
Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.
Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow
on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.
No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday
you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday’s saucer
without the slightest clink.
-Billy Collins, The Art of Drowning
1 comment:
Ah me, I love this poem. I've been saving it for winter, and though it's only December, the days are already "cold and bright, the ground heavy with snow and the thick masonry of ice". It doesn't quite fit in with the Christmas/Advent theme I've been keeping. But then again, this poem is full of hope and gratitude, and I like the sense of precariousness - days gingerly stacked up, the whole pile ready to come crashing down at any moment. Like Mr. Collins, I treasure each plate: "Just another Wednesday". But when the stack finally slips, won't the noise be glorious! So maybe this is an Advent poem after all.
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