Futility


Brain things / Saturday, September 15th, 2012

My words go out from me.

They plink-plank-plunk into the cosmos of my small tin pail.

Then they are gone.

Sometimes they age down there, shriveling into crabbed forgottenness.

Sometimes they fall.

Sometimes they become food, and they are gone, and I have a hard time believing that those three small berries nourish.

I pick them from the bushes. So carefully I choose them.

Does it matter?

Anyone could pick them, I think. They are public domain, in the minds and dictionaries of the universe. But those three belong together, and I choose them, and people like the flavor of the selections, the mixing and the way the plink complements the plunk.

Then they fall, and are gone.

And my tin cosmos is small.

And the people are still hungry, and I am still Sal, looking for my mother.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

4 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Sharon
9 years ago

Gone? Perhaps…but ready to do their work – to nourish, entertain, inspire, encourage, or rebuke! Your blog is doing all of these Shari! Thank you!

9 years ago

Loved “Little Sal” the first time I read the book many, many, many long years ago to my first born. Still love it today, and love how you used it as the inspiration and visual for your post.

9 years ago

Oh, I love this.

9 years ago

This one grabbed me. I get it. Love your writing!