Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
Everything DiesEverything I love will die.
Everything I grasp slips away slowly,
Until the white-knuckled fist itself withers.
Plants compost easily enough,
White shoes yellow, mementos crinkle,
And worse, every baby face becomes an elderly one.
Learning to turn those hands over, knuckles down,
To cup them in receiving what comes
And what goes,
To leave those fingers limber and ready,
To catch both blessings and tears -
That is the hardest part.
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