Part 1
I now will be, and love and plan
And realize and empathize
As designs within me rise
And structures come together
’Spite instinct, I am my own man
I claim the whole world as my prize
I’ll shape the world to fit my eyes
It won’t define me, ever
My slurried thoughts I’ll sluice away
A moment there and then they’re gone
I’ll lay my claim to those that stay
The golden thoughts embedded
I’ll spend a lifetime learning ways
To purify the gold I’ve won—
Then sudden death—oblivion—
Complete erasure of my days
And that’s my thought most dreaded.
Our lives we throw like pottery
And shape them with own two hands
And kiln them in our energy
And cool them with our breath
We make no show for all to see
Beside the kiln our life-work stands
Unregarded, there to be
Shattered by our death
But Mozart, Caesar, Genghis Kahn—
Remembered all and written down—
Some few escape oblivion,
And what they’ve done survives
Yes, some there are still living on
By works, by art they gain renown
But these few what the world sluiced from
A hundred billion lives
But of the rest, all that is known:
“This person lived and then they died
The few who knew them all are gone
And nothing more remembered”
Most poetry stays in the home
Is not packed up to go outside
Is spoken only when alone
And then to death surrendered
Her Life Is On This Table and Other Poems Page 4
