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Span
by
Robyn Sarah


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We write on Time
until our rhyme
runs out,
until the chalk itself
has dwindled to a nub
and less than that,
a smudge of powder
on a fingertip,
a powder shed
upon the ground.

Our frail agency
in the world, this:
our brave chalk line,
our mark on Time –
first firm, then skipping
like a vapour trail,
and soon enough rubbed out
by Time’s felt brush
in Time’s fell hand
(or by a celestial Thumb.)

What then can our intrepid cursive prove?
– Still, let us make our rhyme a rhyme of love.

From Pause for Breath (Biblioasis Press, 2009).
Used here with the author’s and publisher’s permission.

Purchase a framed print of this poem.

Robyn Sarah was born in New York City to Canadian parents. She wrote and enjoyed poetry as a child and is now the author of nine poetry collections, two collections of short stories and a book of essays on poetry. Robyn is the poetry editor for Cormorant Books in Toronto, and lives with her husband in Montreal. Her most recent collection is Digressions: Prose Poems, Collage Poems, and Sketches (Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2012).

 

 


Post New Comment:
69Dorcas:
Very nice. I can sense my smallness and the humbleness of what I feel and think is not really important in God's plan, still necessary to record my existence. It is succinct.
Posted 01/07/2012 12:16 PM
dotief@comcast.net:
The tone of this piece felt very Shakespearean--almost Biblical in a King James sense. Wonderful poetry! I'm ready for my new year!
Posted 01/01/2012 07:40 PM
Jo:
Sarah, In between lots of family, I came in here for a glimpse of the poem for New Year's day. So glad I was amply rewarded. Reading you is a wonderful way to start the New Year. Cheers.
Posted 01/01/2012 02:05 PM


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