a poem by JOHN GREY
It’s not as if I don’t believe what you’re telling me.
But the earth doesn’t even shake where I live.
It certainly doesn’t split at the seams, open up beneath me.
I just can’t imagine the ground
taking offence like that, striking back hard and merciless.
But don’t think I’m not worried for you. I even prayed…
for no other reason than to mention you in my prayers.
So if you say the world is falling apart, then I believe you.
If a plate slides off the table, smashes to pieces,
one of those pieces is me. Same if the books fall from the shelves.
When you’re picking those volumes up from the floor,
pick me up as well.
I walk on bedrock, on granite. I don’t know from tectonic plates.
But I share the planet with you.
So if you tell me that it’s cracking up, then I hold on tight.
Mostly to what I know of you.
© John Grey, 2018