January 29

comments 6
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You must feel so grateful
when you get home–

You’d think,
the way I talk big,

putting out fires.
But really,

I mostly sift
through the ashes

of what once was,
in front of those

who knew it far better.
Any comparison

would be unkind,
and superstition

would say, unwise,
but to think that way

would cheapen things.
As if any of us

really stood a chance–
all that to say

when I get home
these days I try

not to feel
and not to think,

and if anything
I’m grateful

that occasionally
I succeed.

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6 Comments

  1. Great poem. The first few lines impacted me the most. “You’d think, the way I talk big, putting out fires. But really, I mostly sift through the ashes.” Such a humbling and uneasy statement (I don’t know if those are the best words to describe it, but they’re the first ones that popped in my head.)

    Like

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