Remember This is a periodic blog series of thoughts, quotes and inspiration that I want to remember—and you might, too. Things I’ve learned about life so far, and don’t want to forget (like my human brain has a tendency to do). You can view the all the posts in the series here.
Keeping up with the news this week has been a heartbreaking exercise, one that has become only too familiar. I thought it fitting to share a poem that might remind you, as it does me, to have hope, to use your power, to show your love and to make something more beautiful than what you see.
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
P.S. BLACK LIVES MATTER.
// Photo courtesy of Jerry Kiesewetter on Unsplash