I tried to live small.
I took a narrow bed.
I held my elbows to my sides.
I tried to step carefully And to think softly
And to breathe shallowly
In my portion of air
And to disturb no one.
Yet see how I spread out and
I cannot help it.
I take to myself more and more,
and I take nothing
That I do not need, but
my needs grow like weeds.
All over and invading,
I clutter this place
With all the apparatus
of living.
You stumble over it daily.
And then my lungs
take their fill.
And then you gasp for air.
Excuse me for living.
But, since I am living,
Given inches, I take yards,
Taking yards, dream of miles
And a landscape, unbound
And vast in abandon.
And, you dreaming the same.
Labels: Naomi Replansky