Well, I've never ripped a crotch in my pants, but last week a good friend died unexpectedly. Ouch. I'll miss you, Emma.
Here I am in the middle of a lot of transitions, and how easy it is for me to forget to stay awake and marvel at what I DO have (which doesn't mean I can't grieve what I don't). Kowit's poem, "Notice," reminds me of this.
Notice
This evening, the sturdy Levi's
I wore every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end
in perfect condition,
suddenly tore.
How or why I don't know,
but there it was: a big rip at the crotch.
A month ago my friend Nick
walked off a racquetball court,
showered,
got into his street clothes,
& halfway home collapsed & died.
Take heed, you who read this,
& drop to your knees now & again
like the poet Christopher Smart,
& kiss the earth & be joyful,
& make much of your time,
& be kindly to everyone,
even to those who do not deserve it.
For although you may not believe
it will happen,
you too will one day be gone,
I, whose Levi's ripped at the crotch
for no reason,
assure you that such is the case.
Pass it on.
~ Steve Kowit ~
(The Dumbbell Nebula)
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