Hodgepodge 341/365 - Poetry (Maggie Smith)

I have shared this poem on FB: I find it moving, sad. A friend of mine just posted it again, which reminded me that I can keep it here, in my archive—an easy entry for the day. I'll take it.

That said, I continue to cling to the optimistic, or at least hopeful (if misguided, given all the facts), notion that this place still does have plenty of beauty, and beautiful people too. It does. I'm just not quite sure where it all balances out anymore . . .

That said: life is short, and I wish all the haters and self-righteous and greedmongers could grasp that and be just a little more loving, accepting, and giving . . .

Good Bones

by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.