When our lives slow…

February 17, 2017

Portland OR

I drive towards Hawthorne Bridge and the lights begin to blink.

“No…no… drawbridge… please… not now… Stay down… you’re so much prettier that way.”

No luck. I harrumph, stop the car and watch the middle of the bridge grunt, groan and beep its way to the top.

I am, of course, the very first car to have to stop. A minute and a half early, and I would be across the river by now.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, I fidget. I wonder how long it’s going to be. I wonder if I will make it home before my kid gets home. I drum my fingers some more.

I look at the book of poems sitting patiently in the passenger seat next to me. Last night I had heard its author, or rather poet, Tracy Smith, speak. I remember the first poem. There’s a reason that book is here (and ahem… because I don’t clean my car?). But those are the words I need to read.

Here's the excerpt from the poem:

…When our lives slow

And we can hold all that we love, it sprawls
In our laps like a gangly doll. When the storm
Kicks up and nothing is ours, we go chasing
After all we’re certain to lose, so alive –
Faces radiant with panic.

~ Tracy Smith, Life on Mars

I have stared at the haunting words. Earlier today, I clicked a picture and texted to friends.

And right now, I decide I need to notice the advice in the words, to allow my life to slow.

I do just that. I marvel at the bridge and its chunk of metal going up. I gaze at the bright sunshine, blue skies (so rare these days), and the waters below glistening like stars. I find a song I like. My own “gangly” arm reaches for the loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread.

Not half bad, I think, as I snack on the bread, listen to music and admire the skies and waters around me. Quite a treat really, I decide.

And I quietly thank the poet for reminding me how close we are, we always are, to a face “radiant with panic” and to our life slowing…

Wrote this last Friday, got slammed by a cold and forgot to post