This Week: The Shape of Being Together
wind, undulating water
and people walking by, not noticing.
a shared pace, smile,
connecting, intertwining their realities.
this moment will make
an unborn memory, forgotten to time. how many moments like this in a day?
how many moments are lived and left behind?
This asks an intriguing question! It's paradoxical, too, that in the writing of it, we are bringing forth the moments!
That closing question is doing a lot of work. The poem earns the philosophy at the end.
They sit like reflections of the same quiet thought
One in sharp black-and-white checks, the other in soft patterned socks and sun-washed sneakers
Knees angled inward, not quite touching, yet carving out a small shared space between them.
The crossed arms on the left hold something close
A story, a worry, a boundary
The clasped hands on the right rest open, patient, ready
Fabric speaks where voices don’t: the bold geometry of one life meeting the gentle scatter of another
Have they done this before
Sat side by side in silence that feels like language?
Maybe years of it. Maybe just this afternoon.
Either way, the mirroring holds: different patterns, same bench, same light falling across both
In the space between their knees, something is being remembered
Or learned for the first time
Or simply allowed to be
Love those last three lines especially! They encapsulate the moment so well.
wind, undulating water
and people walking by, not noticing.
a shared pace, smile,
connecting, intertwining their realities.
this moment will make
an unborn memory, forgotten to time. how many moments like this in a day?
how many moments are lived and left behind?
This asks an intriguing question! It's paradoxical, too, that in the writing of it, we are bringing forth the moments!
That closing question is doing a lot of work. The poem earns the philosophy at the end.
They sit like reflections of the same quiet thought
One in sharp black-and-white checks, the other in soft patterned socks and sun-washed sneakers
Knees angled inward, not quite touching, yet carving out a small shared space between them.
The crossed arms on the left hold something close
A story, a worry, a boundary
The clasped hands on the right rest open, patient, ready
Fabric speaks where voices don’t: the bold geometry of one life meeting the gentle scatter of another
Have they done this before
Sat side by side in silence that feels like language?
Maybe years of it. Maybe just this afternoon.
Either way, the mirroring holds: different patterns, same bench, same light falling across both
In the space between their knees, something is being remembered
Or learned for the first time
Or simply allowed to be
Love those last three lines especially! They encapsulate the moment so well.