Each morningwakingamidst the not-ever-before,dressing inside the not-ever-again.
Under sunlight or cloud,brushing the hair.
Not yet arrivedat the end-crimped finish,drinking coffeeand buttering toast.
Permitted to slip into coat, into shoes,I go out,I count myself part,
carrying onlya weightless shadow,whose each corner joins and departsfrom the shadows of others.
Mortal, alive among othersequally fragile.
And with luck—for days even, sometimes—this luxury, this extra gift:
able to even forget it.
From The Asking: New and Selected Poems by Jane Hirshfield. Copyright © 2023 by Jane Hirshfield. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC, New York. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.…
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Poets & Writers (Digital) - 1 Issue, September/October 2023