April 1, 2019

Them Bones

Today is the first day of National Poetry Month! The 2019 entry, unfortunately, isn't all that great, so I've gone back to last year's. This poem is a class in optimism, even in the case of an often terrible reality.

Good Bones
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.
april is: a poem a day for national poetry month (April 1, 2018: Good Bones, Maggie Smith)

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