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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required (Family heirloom, Persian Gharajeh rug) Coping Skills The world is certainly not as it should be. Maybe it’s always been that way, But now we know 24/7. So we each and all cope as best we can. For some this can be as bad as becoming a serial killer, For others as innocuous as being addicted to exercise Or in my case, this winter, detective novels. Whatever it is, whatever gets you through the night. They don’t teach you this when you’re a kid, But eventually you find out; There’s no telling how long the night lasts. Of course that’s what dreaming’s for, But that’s no consolation for the sleepless. Out in the night life goes on, And it chips away at those within, Eroding what defenses we have When we wishfully think it will end And that what it is, is no different Than the day without light. So, addictions of all stripes fill the void As we wait for day, The euphemism I’m using here For death of course. Not that anyone else but me cares, Certainly not my wife, But as I wait within for the dawning without, When all the voids a novel can never fill still call, I find old pile and flat-woven rugs and saddlebags From the Near to Far East A tremendous solace; The look, the feel, the pleasing balance of utility and art, The grounding sense of time and place. Something about the indomitable spirit Of the nomads who wove them Joined with the city folk who even at a distance Can still appreciate and consume them Makes me think there is a hidden harmony In this circle we call life. And if there is such a harmony Then maybe the world Isn’t as out of whack as it seems. (1/9/23)
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