By Maggie Smith
"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."
Via the Poetry Foundation
1 comment:
"Life is long, as my children know.
Life is long, even though I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
The world can be seen as terrible, if you look at it that way, as my children know.
For every bird seen there are a million unseen birds.
For every loved child, there are dozens of loving adults. For every kind
stranger, there is another stranger who was kind to them. My children know all this already, but I remind them, because it is possible to forget when we grow up.
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