We wander,
waiting, wondering, seeking,
gold glitters in the distance
and we take off running its way,
thinking we have found
the whole answer to life,
because it shines and
it sparkles and it will surely
lend its light over all
that comes next
And then we are there,
neck even, right in front of it,
and we see the blemishes,
the scratches, the chips
along the sides, and maybe
it wasn’t, in fact, the
whole answer to life, because
the whole answer to life
would be more beautiful,
less rusted,
flawless
So we wander,
waiting, wondering, seeking,
our feet grown more numb
in a frost that does not
reach roots, thank God,
because it’s cold and wet
and slimy between the toes
The sun scorches our cheeks,
drawing red like muted blood
in patches across our skin
and there is no relief to this
never-ending wasteland,
where we wander
The only hope
this horizon has
to offer is
an old rock
An old rock
where once had been
a golden masterpiece
Our future bundled up
in a shiny image
If only, if only, if only
We climb the rock
We stand
We look
And there before us is a
view of the land we have crossed
through days and weeks
and in and out of years
and how did we miss
how lovely light could be
when dressed in white
We did not see
But this old rock
This old rock
It is an ancient respite,
a resting place that
lays bare truth:
though we wandered,
we were not lost
This is an excerpt from Textbook of an Ordinary Life: poems. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by Liam Henry on Unsplash)
