Leveler Poetry Journal
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To Being This Human

 

Sometimes I think the earliest ancestors worried as I worry.

 

Maybe they counted footsteps to keep themselves calm.

 

Maybe they saw a complex pattern to being this human.

 

I know people experience hurt on a spectrum of important to quite a bit.

 

Our little feet tucked inside our little shoes.

 

Our arms and legs open to the world.

 

I have a maternal moment on the sidewalk.

 

My brother is inside my head.

 

I don’t speak of him very often except for now.

 

My maternal worry wants to know more than I am able.

 

I am older and accustomed to protecting although failing with him.

 

He inhabits an anger I cannot traverse.

 

Buddha teaches impermanence.

 

I liken that to navigating white on white on white forever.

 

While people sleep nobody here can see what I see.

 

The fluorescent lights make us look sickly.

 

If I were to participate in a club where we all looked out for one another

 

I would recommend him as a member.

 

Moving around as unfamiliar goods there would be much to work on.

 

We would be allowed to sigh over the smallest things.




Leslie Seldin