Every hour becomes another.

Surrendering minutes, accepting
gain, which gravities restrain us?

Strong coffee, books. A smile.

Such imponderables – the measured
digit, starlife, an unmarked sheet of
paper fluttering to the floor.

Sometimes the lights go out
and we wonder when they’ll return,
not if. Or the laborer misinterprets
a statement and stains the carpet.

There but for the grace…
Anything can happen, and frequently does,

but we open the door and step out, unhindered.

“Privilege” is included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second, available for order now via and Finishing Line Press.

16 thoughts on “Privilege

  1. Gravities that restrain … poetry, for sure, especially the anchor of a poem still forming, insisting on attention, insisting that it materialize, that it might become a gravity for another …
    Guessing this poem was one such at one time.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Every-time I read this poem of yours, I smile and grimace to myself, these lines poignancy grabs me, “Anything can happen, and frequently does,
    but we open the door and step out, unhindered.”

    Liked by 1 person

  3. “But for the grace” is on my mind most days. “…and step out, unhindered.” Until we don’t. For some, though, the shoe never drops. Others have nothing but shoes dropped by others. And sometimes the mind just strings together thoughts and hopes for the best.

    Liked by 1 person

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