The more I have to lose, all these ordinary joys.
I get so tired of thinking
about death: warmth drains
out of me like an empty bath,
growing cold. The longer
I’m with you, the more I have
to lose, all these ordinary joys:
tonight, watching TV on the couch,
finishing the leftover wine,
your fingers in my hair.
I try to memorize every simple,
lovely thing. I try to come back
to living my good life.
This poem appeared in the Spring 2013 issue of UU World (page 18).Comments powered by Disqus