Slightly Bowed

The bench is slightly bowed,
a bit too long for the board that spans the legs,
and so, after enough sitting it has bowed,
still strong, but a little suspect.

We like things straight. Straight roads. Crisp lines.
Direct paths from here to there,
where we can see the beginning and the end.
There is a certainty in them.

We do not like things that bend.
We want things strong and trustworthy,
Demonstratively so.
And yet, nothing in nature is straight.

Rivers wind. Limbs twist and turn.
The fronds of flowers bend in the wind.
Wind shifts varying in direction and speed
like a toddler’s whims.

Babies are round and plump.
Women have curves.
Old men like me have wrinkles.
none of them straight.

And so it is that I will trust the bench’s bent board.
I will trust the path that turns into the woods
and disappears. I will trust the uncertainty
of God’s timing.

I will trust nature
more than the desire for straight lines.
It is more true and has outlasted
all the certainties that once lived in my life,

but live there
no longer.

About this poem

A poem about expectations. About what we trust. About benches and about a life that has never met my expectations, and yet, has been wonderful. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at the Hancock Shaker Village in Hancock, Massachusetts. You can buy museum quality prints and cards of this image here.

Tom