by A. E. Stallings
After a Greek Proverb Ουδέν μονιμότερον του προσωρινού
We’re
here for the time being, I answer to the query—
Just
for a couple of years, we said, a dozen years back.
Nothing
is more permanent than the temporary.
We
dine sitting on folding chairs—they were cheap but cheery.
We’ve
taped the broken window pane. TV’s still out of whack.
We’re
here for the time being, I answer to the query.
When
we crossed the water, we only brought what we could carry,
But
there are always boxes that you never do unpack.
Nothing
is more permanent than the temporary.
Sometimes
when I’m feeling weepy, you propose a theory:
Nostalgia
and tear gas have the same acrid smack.
We’re
here for the time being, I answer to the query—
We
stash bones in the closet when we don’t have time to bury,
Stuff
receipts in envelopes, file papers in a stack.
Nothing
is more permanent than the temporary.
Twelve
years now and we’re still eating off the ordinary:
We
left our wedding china behind, afraid that it might crack.
We’re
here for the time being, we answer to the query,
But
nothing is more permanent than the temporary.
Poetry (January 2012).
That last line is such an interesting parallel, and true in so many ways!
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