Erin Beckett | + Follow Poet |
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To All the Good Things

Is it so wrong, 
that were I forced to choose one side,
I would choose the darker one?

And then I wonder,
Are there just the two, 
are they distinct after all?

I think it would change everything.
I’d let my eyes open without fear, 
without any expectations for what I might find.
I’d sweep pages off the table,
and let them do as they’d have done 
all along without me.

I’d let them fall.

Maybe I don’t know what I’m saying,
what I’m asking, what I’m wanting.
Maybe the implications would strike me 
as something more unbearable
than any obligation ever could have.

But black and white are both so boring,
and I feel like sitting down for awhile 
instead of looking tall.

I had a dream where there was only light
at first, and it was beautiful for a while.
Then it grew hot on my skin, 
And I knew I had to shut it out, 
or it would burn me up, 
until I was nothing but ashes.
So I closed the window.
I pulled the curtain shut.
I locked the door.

I closed hands that had always been open,
and let them fall.

I closed my eyes and stopped looking,
and opened up to something else,
something easier.
Maybe it was only my body, 
myself (that funny illusion).

The phone kept ringing,
I hung up the call.

The light was gone, 
and with it all the notions of the good
I’d collected up on dusty shelves,
that'd been screaming at me for years...

But I’d given all I had,
and now all I wanted was everything back.
The night, the day.
The ticking clock,
that seemed harmless
now that I’d stopped watching it move.

Just when I needed nothing,
I could finally have it all.

To all the good things,
the pretty things, 
the pleasant, and the virtuous things,
to all of them 
I send my condolences.
From now on, 
I’ll not seek them out.
From now on, 
I won't hunt them down.

But whenever our paths should cross, 
as I'm sure they will,
and I'm found with open hands,
I'll be happy when they stay awhile
without me having to reach at all.

Copyright © Erin Beckett | Year Posted 2013

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