What is the impulse to escape? Where do we move to?
Do we move as if dancing? As if singing?
Or is the sad truth that we don’t move at all?
After we retire, how do we light our way?
Down which corridors do we linger?
Will we reminisce in public spaces?
How ingracious of me to decide
everything for us.
Despite your longings, everything
you said to the contrary.
You evoke brilliant points
and scholarly arguments,
to which I am accustomed,
until you part from me.
And I am sorry, humbled,
for all those years;
and then I walk upwards,
continually resolving to listen.
/ / /
This poem was written to the day five prompt at NaPoWriMo, reacting “both to photography and to words in a language not your own.” I used the photograph below, and the poem was “Que exíguo impulso se move e não esquecemos?” by Rui Cóias.
Delana. “Moving Monochrome: 7 Black-&-White Photographers.” WebUrbanist, 10 July 2013, weburbanist.com/2008/11/13/black-and-white-monochrome-photographers-and-photographs/.
“Rui Cóias.” [Que Exíguo Impulso Se Move e Não Esquecemos?] (Rui Cóias) · Lyrikline.org, http://www.lyrikline.org/en/poems/que-exiguo-impulso-se-move-e-nao-esquecemos-13574#.WtFycdPwau5.
Sadly Waiting for Recess 