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