after Ruth Stone, “Train Ride”
There are not enough hours to walk by the river,
not enough hours to work and make soup
and dream and sit and do nothing at all.
Is it true there is not enough time?
There is time for every word
you have written, every petunia you’ve planted,
for every path you have walked,
for every lover you’ve kissed
and kissed and kissed there is enough time.
No. Not enough. Not enough time for reading
the tall stack of books on the desk.
Not enough time for making the pie crust
from scratch. Not enough time for wandering
in the forest with the soft green hanging moss
until you, too, remember you are a tree.
And yet you have read tall stacks of books.
Many, many tall stacks.
You have made cherry pies and rhubarb pies
and pumpkin pies from scratch.
You have wandered for hours through dappled glades
and draped your hair with moss.
There is enough time for everything you have ever done
and for every moment spent doing nothing at all.
How is it you feel such lack?
Here is the moment. Open it.
Train Ride
All things come to an end;
small calves in Arkansas,
the bend of the muddy river.
Do all things come to an end?
No, they go on forever.
They go on forever, the swamp,
the vine-choked cypress, the oaks
rattling last year’s leaves,
the thump of the rails, the kite,
the still white stilted heron.
All things come to an end.
The red clay bank, the spread hawk,
the bodies riding this train,
the stalled truck, pale sunlight, the talk;
the talk goes on forever,
the wide dry field of geese,
a man stopped near his porch
to watch. Release, release;
between cold death and a fever,
send what you will, I will listen.
All things come to an end.
No, they go on forever.
I love this poem so … it has inspired me over and over
This feeling–this exact feeling–yes.
For some reason it made me think of the line “Had we but world enough, and time” from Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” so I reread that, with its impatience for *now*:
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
I vastly prefer your appreciation for living each moment as it is, as it comes. Thank you for putting it into words.
oh yes! I hear the conversation between them–lovely!!!
If only I had more time to plum the depths of this poem, then I could… oh, wait… aha!
I love these “aha” moments from you, Rosemerry… they remind me of a favorite moment from a lovely film:
Paterson clip
All power (and time and life) to the paradox.
always always all ways
I just want you to know how much your poems have meant to me. Every morning I listen to you on the Ritual app as part of my personal morning ritual, and it’s always a beautiful and meaningful way to start my day. I am literally starting a new life, as I have now lost both parents and my husband, and my children all live a distance away. Your poetry has been a Godsend. Thank you.
Oh friend–I hear how much things are changing, how much loss you are meeting, and how you are in a new place in life. I am opening my heart to yours. Thank you for letting me know the poems matter. I am so glad you are listening on Ritual to the poems … I am wishing you deep peace, Rosemerry
Thank you for those kind words and for your poetry.
This is absolutely beautiful. I’ll be thinking about this one for quite a while.
Thank you, Kathleen–it’s got me going, too, this new way of thinking of time.
First time commenter – every morning I read your daily poem before turning to my own writing. I’ve bookmarked so many that have moved me, but this one was especially… timely! I have been thinking a lot about the stories I tell myself about time, especially after listening to this interview with Jenny Odell (https://emergencemagazine.org/interview/another-kind-of-time/). Thank you for this gift of a poem!
Thanks, Beth! First time commenter!! I love knowing that you’ve bookmarked many … and thank you for letting me know this one was relevant. Oh our stories! Especially about time. I always feel I don’t have enough. This poems was a welcome epiphany.