The Smallness of Life

(To Katy)

This,
the smallness of my life, I said,
can you see it?

But she said nothing,
she just wrote
a series of details
and small spaces.

My life used to spread, I said,
over pot-holed streets and easy laughter,
a time when youth was
just another smell in the air.

But she said nothing,
she just sniffed;
from where she stood,
she could smell it still.

But my life has stretched so thin, I said,
it has shrunk into this square mile
between where I sleep and where I yawn.

This corner of the world, I said,
that I call my own;
this bit of the earth
I staked as home.

This piece of life, I said,
that I squander at will;
this circle of friends
I ignore to call.

This head resting on my hip,
this hour of the day when the sky
looks like Mary in front of the cross.

This hollow in my heart
where they used to be;
this cat, this breath, this,
this smallness of my life...

But she said nothing,
she just blinked.
Her life wasn't any bigger.

(Originally post on January 30, 2006)