One Thing. Then Another

It is never easy, this cleaning after the storm.
Picking up the debris.
Deciding what to keep and what
has no value. The hauling away.
Thankless work, but necessary.

It was hard work when you were young,
but now, with your grey hair and old bones,
with your scars and a limp, it is more difficult.
More difficult still when you remember
this is not your first aftermath. You cannot help
wondering how many more there will be
and whether you will be up to the task.

But now. In this moment, you can do
something. One thing. Then another.
The hauling away. And the slow work
of restoration, or perhaps reimagining
how it could be done better. How to protect
yourself better from the storms.

About this poem.

Inspired by a comment from a friend of mine (Hi Jack!) on a post that contained a prayer.

A poem about the politics of love and inclusion, which is being torn down just now. A poem about our (my) personal fallings and failings and the coming back from them. A poem about aging. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at Asbury Park, NJ.

Tom