Rattled in Seattle

By: Victoria G. Smith

 

Morning crashes the windows
of my daughter’s apartment
in the rattle and din of recyclables
being dumped in collection bins,
the groaning, belching lurch and heave
of buses transporting their day’s
portion of travelers, the alternating
angry yells of the miserable
and the chirpy chatter of the hopeful.
The constant ebb and flow of a city
that is alive wash over me like a
simultaneously rising and receding
tide. I am the passive voyager floating
where they take me, receiving without
judging the proof of parallel lives:
both a cacophony of the dead
and symphony of the living.
Should I dive in and throw myself
into this exercise yet again?
I have lived long enough to know
it doesn’t end, doesn’t care—
this unrelenting march of life,
toward where, I’m still not sure.
I am content to stay in pause
for now, while others push play
into their crescendo of dreams,
wondering if they’ll hit the high notes.

Poet’s Notes: Another year, another chance to make a life. Do we dive in again? The poet above asks the same question. It’s the brave that take the risks, and even when they fail, they still appear to achieve something—the journey itself, while the rest of us seem content to live vicariously through observance of others’ lives, all the while judging or envying. Which side will we take on this year? Which path will make a difference? Or do we care?

Merry Christmas & happy new year from the Smith family: Steve, Victoria, Travis and Francesca.